Bob Loblaw

I just thought it was about time for an update, so here I am, updating you on stuff, as I sometimes do.

Bruce was away for three days this week, and for the full three days I did nothing but work, watch television and sleep - all of which I accomplished in pyjamas. I’ve been working from home these last few weeks, you see, due to an extremely painful collision involving a baby and my groin, so every day is dress-down day if I so choose (and I do).

They don’t tell you that having pain in your nether regions is possible long before you have to squeeze out something the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, but there are many fun facts about pregnancy nobody bothers to tell you, like that they make panty liners for your boobs. For your boobs! For when they start to leak milk! It’s just one more happy event I have to look forward to.

It makes me want to throw oversized maternity bras at the heads of those other glowing, serene mothers-to-be who prattle on about butterflies and happy hormones and how in love they are with their unborn babies. You’d think they were growing a sparkling pink unicorn in an icing-sugar palace instead of stretching themselves to unthinkable proportions to accommodate something that will one day steal money from their purse to buy cigarettes.

Never mind butterflies - the foetal movement of this kid feels more like a trapped wood pigeon trying frantically to escape, my belly jumping and jerking around like something straight out of Aliens. I am not feeling serene or glowing or hormonally happy at all. I feel tired and listless, unwell and useless, and some days I don’t even want to get out of bed. I count myself lucky to have so far escaped the horrors of skin discolouration, stretch marks, varicose veins and cracked nipples, but never say never!

That said, I’m so grateful that the pregnancy itself has so far gone off without a hitch, and by that I mean no scary bleeding, scary blood results and scary painful other things that indicate that not all is well in wombland. We lost an early pregnancy at the beginning of the year, which happens to something like one in five women (some of whom never realise it because it’s like having a heavy period), and it is as though my body remembers and is now doubly resolved to do things properly.

I’m lucky in other ways as well: I have a loving and supportive husband who I know will make the best dad in the universe, a close-knit British family that cares very much for us both and an understanding line manager who has been flexible about how and where I work. I really am in the best possible position to have a child, credit crunch be damned, and in spite of these temporary discomforts, I do feel rather blessed.