Week 30 today. With the pace seemingly picking up and hurtling towards the big 40. 40 weeks pregnant that is plus 40 years of age. Is it vain to want Baby Bear to come early so that I am not 40 when I give birth? I don’t want my baby having a 40-year-old mother. I know there are so many more mums’ now who have reached this milestone but, in all honesty, I just don’t want to be 40. If I really think about it, I don’t want to be 40 regardless of whether I am having a baby. And also, if Baby Bear comes early, I can have a little drink to celebrate / mourn my new age.

The side effects of pregnancy continue. #1 is obviously having an actual child. Most people know about this side effect though early denial can halt the realisation for a little while. This side effect remains for several years after pregnancy, basically forever. Other side effects that we do not know about I am praying disappear after pregnancy. #127 which I am now starting to experience and which I hate is the unwelcome appearance of dandruff. Yes, that’s right. I last experienced this in my teenage years and even then, it only lasted for about 2 weeks – the dandruff that is not my teenage years. Now, my 20-minute sessions staring in to the mirror are focussed towards the hair on my head rather than the hair on my face. Which is worse? Dandruff or facial hair? And like one of those lightbulb moments it has come to me. The solution to all of my problems. I am going to head out and buy myself a balaclava.

Side effect #23 is insomnia. Last night I was awake all night. I was so, so, so, so tired. All I wanted to do was sleep. But could I? No. I received a message last night from someone telling me that they would not be at rugby training because they were ill and struggling to get more than 4 hours of sleep. I was the wrong person to tell this. How I would love 4 hours sleep. I crave 4 hours sleep – a bit like I crave bread and orange squash and chocolate and Weetabix. But before I was pregnant, I would have struggled on 4 hours sleep too so I should probably not have ranted to myself for 37 minutes after receiving the message. J does not always sleep well but what does J do? He just carries on, he does not give in to it. I should take inspiration from J. Whilst he got the early train to London today to go to work, after dropping him off at the station I returned home to my bed. I gave in, but tomorrow is another day (obviously – what a stupid expression). After dropping him at the station I will go food shopping, I will swim 20 lengths, I will bake bread, I will volunteer at the local homeless charity, I will read another chapter of my Bertrand Russell book. I will then do some very productive work before heading in to London myself for an event I am chairing….in reality, I will come home. I will make myself tea, hopefully successfully adding milk and not washing-up-liquid. I will then put said milk back in to the fridge rather than the washing-up-bowl. I will make myself some breakfast and potentially catch up on neighbours whilst eating breakfast. Impressive multi-tasking. I will do some prep for my event tomorrow and then spend an hour and a half trying to find some clothes that fit me that are appropriate for said event. Trackie bottoms and baggy t shirt are not going to do. A balaclava might also be inappropriate so I will have to spend some quality time with the mirror covering up dandruff and plucking hairs and then I will realise I am running late, get to the station, get on the train just in time only to realise that I am wearing odd shoes. Only joking; I am a successful business women and entrepreneur and I am the air of calm and sophistication and I will even have time to don some mascara before I walk gracefully out of the house to go to the station still with plenty of time to buy a healthy zero calorific drink and snack from the station café before getting the train.

Side effect #235 is nesting. Yesterday I cleaned the kitchen. Twice. Something is wrong.

Unicorn Brexit carried along by a sled pulled by flying pigs has now realised that is can’t get to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So now it is going around in circles but it still thinks that the pot of gold exists. So, it is going to try and stay put for a while hoping that some more flying pigs will start believing too and it will add strength to their cause and then they will definitely reach the pot of gold and utopia that both definitely exist. They really, really, really do exist. Yes, they do. Yes, they do. Yes, they do. And if I tell myself over and over and over again that two weeks after giving birth, I will be a size 12 it will definitely happen. Yes, it really will. I have never been a size 12 ever. Not even when I was born.

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