It’s been well over two weeks since I last wrote properly.

In this time we have seen you again, seen a little foot kick and a little arm move, heard your heartbeat, seen my tum nudge forward just a tiny bit, broke down in tears at my cumbersome shape, had your father’s 29th birthday and got shot at by the neighbour. I have also:

told my work
emailed the world
clutched the photo of you close to my chest
bought a baby name book
started jotting down names I like and ones I don’t like
managed a smile when people ask if I’m excited, rather than a worrisome nod
sneaked a look at the maternity gear in top shop (and was massively disappointed)
upped my intake of green veg and funny looking sprouting beans
stopped going to the toilet 5 times a night
outgrown yet another bra

It feels like time is speeding up. This is good. I think it’s because I’m no longer in a state of permanent exhaustion. Now I want to go out, see people and do things. I think I finally feel pregnant. It will be better when I properly LOOK pregnant. At the moment I just look like some fat bird. Funny thing though yesterday, a man got up to let me have his seat on the tube. I wasn’t sure if it was because he thought I was up the duff or because he was being kind. It felt pretty good.