For more information , http://46b7cdp1sftpowdkkk2pmjoz6x.hop.clickbank.net <br />The first time it happened I was in my early twenties, straphanging in a crowded New York City subway car on my way to work. I was wearing a slim-fitting T-shirt dress, one that for reasons that will soon become horrifyingly clear, I subsequently used to scrub out the litter box and then tossed. The seated woman I was standing in front of met my eyes and smiled. Then she stood up. I smiled back and stepped to the side so she could make her way to the door. She stood right next to me. <br />"Would you like to sit?" she asked kindly. "I remember how tired I was during my pregnancy. You look like you're into your second trimester; it gets easier." <br />If I had been pregnant, her act of generosity would probably have sent me into early labor right there on the F train. <br />But I wasn't. (Even so, I took the seat.) <br />Once in a while I'm still offered a seat on the train, thanks to a belly that seems to always enter a room a split second before the rest of me does.
