Garage life quite a journey (when you're pregnant)

My face looks like a camouflage paint scheme on the Fourth of July. My backside rivals the width of a Cup hauler, and my midsection is the diameter of a Goodyear Racing Eagle.

What am I?

A pregnant NASCAR reporter!

When I returned home from Chicagoland Speedway this week, my husband asked if I had sprained my ankles at the track. Calmly, I replied: "No, they are just swollen from walking up and down Michigan Avenue on Friday while it was raining in Joliet, Ill. And by the way, I'm toting an extra 30 pounds to house your first-born son, but thanks anyway!"

Oh the joys of procreation. Let me tell you, the experience has produced some humorous and unforgettable moments on the job. Of course I'm not the first to be forced to waddle around the Sprint Cup Series circuit for seven months or more, but I thought my anecdotes might be worthy of sharing.

First off, you must understand how confusing it is for race car drivers -- and other male members of the sport for that matter -- to decipher whether or not you're actually pregnant or just gained a lot of weight during the offseason. Their eyes go from your stomach to your newly, naturally acquired D-cups in rapid succession all the while trying to decide whether or not to say, "Congratulations, when are you due?" or simply walk away in continued confusion.

Those married with children, however, handle the news like a neighbor.

Dean Mozingo, hauler driver at Hendrick Motorsports, whipped out a wallet-size portfolio of his own brood and promptly offered me an unlimited supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when he first saw my baby bump.

But no one had the grace of Richard Childress, clearly a veteran in dealing with delicate and hormonal women in the midst of a troubled first trimester.

"You wear it well, young lady," Childress said to me at Pocono Raceway. Perfect timing as I had just learned I could no longer fit, literally, in the drivers' meeting. Usually, at 110 pounds, I could squeeze into any nook or cranny where I may have needed to hear important or breaking news.

On the bright side (if there is one when your rib cage expands to the size of Danny O'Quinn Jr.'s), my newly acquired circumference has allowed me to throw my weight around, so to speak.

During driver news conferences at the track, media members clear a path for me to stand front and center, and for me that usually puts me eye-level with the driver's belly button. However, I soon learned that front and center at a Dale Earnhardt Jr. news conference is not the place to be when you're pregnant. First let me say, thank God for reporter David Poole. (Continued)