by Erin McCarthy
Ordinarily, I'm a fan of pink-lovely colour, does smashing things for the complexion. But not when it's the bright, glaring stripe staring back at me on the pregnancy test. Then, pink is the colour of major oops, of morning sickness, of boyfriends who seemed decent but now are part of some Jerk Witness Protection Program. Still, I've got a few things going for me-bitter humour, a divine right to eat till I'm the...
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