Depending on which of the multitude of baby websites you wish to read Baby Bear, at 17 weeks, is now about as big as a Turnip or Pomegranate or Avocado. I guess the lesson is that every growing baby is different, as is every mum to be, as is every piece of fruit or vegetable. Well some of our grocery products are, our need in Britain for everything to look exactly the same so that we can walk in to every shop across the country and see exactly the same shaped banana or same coloured granny smith, or perfectly round, shiny tomato has made the differences rarer but you know what I mean! This extends to other retail and leisure outlets. We want to know exactly what we are getting and feel ‘comfortable’ wherever we are in the country so that we can go in to one pub in Kent and experience exactly the same if we walk in to a pub in the same chain in North Yorkshire. I think this is a little bit sad. Where is our sense of adventure? The social theory is called McDonaldization; I don’t think I need to explain why. Anyway, I transgress.

Last Saturday I did indeed go to my first ‘bump fitness’ class at a local, independent gym studio in Folkestone. Along with three other pregnant ladies we pushed ourselves through a kettle bell-based circuit session. It felt great to be exercising again and me being me obviously picked up the heaviest kettle bell to use. Mistake. I got through the class but then proceeded to walk like John Wayne for the next few days. I can’t believe now that I trained at the intensity levels that I did a few years ago. That just seems like a whole other world and I suppose in some ways it was.

I have not yet been near the swimming pool….there is still time before Christmas. But I am not getting my downstairs waxed until next week and until then I definitely will not be going anywhere near a swimming pool in which there may be other members of the public. What will I do when I become one of those energetic people who go and swim 100 lengths every morning before going home, baking a loaf of bread, doing the laundry, hoovering, and cleaning the oven all before breakfast? Because obviously I am going to become that person, all with a baby in tow. I shall have to get a bikini with short bottoms, but then I can’t show my belly. Do swimming costumes with shorts bottoms exist? It may have to be a wetsuit then in that case. Life is just so complicated.

The other thing that is really starting to dawn on me is that my time is never going to be my time again. This realisation hit me the other day after I had spent a full 20 minutes in front of the bathroom mirror plucking hairs out of my face. The general layer of fluff that appears after the age of about 35 is fine but it is the thick, black hairs that seem to appear with no warning on your chin or in the middle of your cheek. I am still in my thirties (just), I am not giving in yet but when am I going to find time to do this when Baby Bear enters the world? Where will facial hair plucking appear on my priority list? Will it be before or after doing the washing up? Meanwhile, ironically, the hair on top of my hair which I like and would love to keep hold of seems to be falling out at a rate of knots. Apparently, this happens in pregnancy. Why? For what reason? Just to make us more miserable?

Jeff is inside most of the time now; he is becoming a more permanent house fern. My friend is apparently going to knit him a little jacket. Well she is going to knit his pot a little jacket but it will still be Jeff’s. I told J this and his excitement levels were evident; I told you that J loves Jeff! Just to be clear he does also love me, there is room in his heart for two but in May or June next year this will need to increase to three otherwise myself and Jeff will be vying for J’s love!