By Emma Wilson
Last updated at 1:55 AM on 20th August 2009
The words 'I'm pregnant' can't be easy to hear for a parent with an unmarried teenage daughter.
So why - when I was married and in my 30s - was I so reluctant to share the news with my mother?
After serious deliberation, I can only deduce that it would bring her more happiness than this belligerent teenage daughter, stuck inside a grown-up body, could bear.
Anne Robsin son and daughter Elaine Wilson
Mum's the word: Emma Wilson wanted a 'stealth pregnancy' with few people knowing of her condition, even her mother, Anne Robinson, left
When your mother is The Weakest Link presenter Anne Robinson and she has publicly demanded you have a baby, you tend to be a tad cautious to announce: 'I'm preggers.'
She was not the only person I was hiding from. As a TV reporter who has filmed diving with great white sharks, this wasn't a feature to add to my Adventure Girl profile.
Nor was it the icebreaker for my upcoming job interviews: 'Hello, I'm Emma, and I'm up the duff. Please hire me.'
Previously, I'd been sniffy and superior about my mates who were dropping like flies as the breeder pandemic spread.
No detail about ovulation predictor tests was too dull to share on Facebook, blogs and mass emails. Not me. I vowed to have a Stealth Pregnancy.
My goal was to keep it under wraps almost until I had a baby in my arms. I was desperate to avoid conversations where any Joe Schmoe feels they can talk to you, or at you, about your condition - and you have to fake your enthusiasm and mask your fear, horror and dread.
We decided not to mention 'it' at first. See if 'it' sticks. Carry on business as normal.
And frankly, get our own heads round the idea. I put on my high heels for the annual Spectator magazine party, tummy concealed in a brand-new Yves Saint Laurent dress.
No, it was not mine. Mommie Dearest had it on the hanger waiting to be taken in.
Oblivious as to why it was the only dress that fit me, she graciously slipped into the previous season's YSL frock.
My first invisible pregnancy appearance on the telly was for VH1, where, unless you are Heidi Klum, a big belly is not a crowd-puller.
The next stealth mission was filming hot, sweaty motorcycle riders at Mallory Park for the GP1 Class Thundersport Championship.
Stealth pregnancy: Emma offers her tips on how to keep your pregnancy under wraps
Stealth pregnancy: Emma offers her tips on how to keep your pregnancy under wraps - such as eating and drinking as normal
It's no place for banter about water retention. So, I wore black suede thigh boots. But the real decoy was my sister Lily, the younger, more vivacious redhead in the family, in whom I'd confided.
She kept an eye on the framing to make sure I wasn't exposing more than I should.
I knew my cavalier attitude towards pregnancy wouldn't go down well with Gran-a-be.
So my birthday treat of horseriding round Hyde Park was on the sly. And neither Mommie Dearest nor Lily needed to know I took my advanced motorcycle test, accessorised by a six-month-old bump.
Please don't misunderstand. I loved my bump - we did all this together. I relished our concealed seclusion. It took co-dependency to a whole new level.
But when I heard a magazine editor warning my agent 'Tell her not to mention she is pregnant - our readers won't like it', it simply motivated my need for a Stealth Pregnancy.
So how did I maintain it? My best tool was denial. Carrying on as normal. Eat, drink and be merry.
And anyone who wants to tell you that alcohol is harmful to a baby should ask how many would be conceived if we were all sober.
I'm not suggesting you break out the absinthe. Certain social occasions did require a little subterfuge - 'gin and tonics' for instance, without the gin.
But the advantage of a Stealth Pregnancy is that you can take a sip of contraband bubbly without the judgmental bandwagon insisting that you be tarred and feathered.
The one time my guard was down, it was a Vietnamese waiter in a New York restaurant who chose to police me. He took our order and then looked at me: 'But you are pregnant?'
Perhaps he thought I hadn't noticed. I didn't have time to draw him a family tree and illustrate how I was a champagne baby, descended from a strong line of Irish drinkers and chain smokers.
Our family anecdotes includes the gem: 'When I was carrying you, I was so tipsy I tried to get in the car and when the keys didn't work, I climbed in through the window.'
It was not our car. Doctors recommend keeping 'mum' about your pregnancy until 12 weeks, in case of mishaps. We didn't tell my mother until 22 weeks.
Even then, I still wasn't ready for my bump to become what she'd call 'our bump'.
To say she was pleased would be an understatement. My plea for her to keep hush and help me maintain my Stealth Pregnancy was a task in futility.
The very next day's phone call started with: 'You don't mind if I tell Pam.' Followed by the next day: 'You don't mind if I tell Sally.' Please note these were statements, not questions.
Of course, there are a couple of Stealth Pregnancy exceptions:
ALWAYS flaunt your bump on the Tube, where only a few good men will give you their seat.
CONFESS to your beautician: She needs to know why you're crying before she has stirred the hot wax.
EMBRACE your bump where there's any potential for an upgrade. And this is why British Airways knew I was pregnant four-and-a-half months before my mother did.