WEEK 12

Is it just me, or is every celebrity suddenly pregnant? Fergie Ferg, Kim Kardashian, Halle Berry — our pelvises have so much in common these days.

However, my true pregnancy doppelganger is Kate Middleton. You’d have to be a real dum dum not to notice the similarities: We’re both named Kate, we’re both adored by the Brits, we both have a tasteful collection of fascinators that we like to wear to orphanages and polo matches …

OK, I’m stretching things a bit. The Duchess of Cambridge and I have very little in common besides a name. She struts about town on those shaved legs of hers, wearing tailored dresses and enjoying life. I, on the other hand, seemed to have instantly transformed into a 65 year-old homeless man. My leg hair is tragically overgrown, my head hair is popping with grays, and suddenly everything in my closet is sweatpants.

But, like my good friend Kate, I’m hating food these days. Matt made me Swedish meatballs this week and I quite honestly thought I might die when I put them in my mouth. He’s determined to fill me with protein and iron, which I really appreciate. But a bowl of saucy brown lumps is not the way to a pregnant woman’s heart. I feel bad — Matt’s been looking forward to cooking all sorts of weird dishes for me, but so far all my food cravings have been ice water, or if I’m really hungry, a grape.

Maybe if this keeps up I’ll have Kate Middleton’s bikini body. With three little meatballs in the middle.

OK, time to go choke down a cracker. Wish me luck!

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