So, here's how the days go.
8:30: Arrive at office clutching half a croissant and a frazzled expression which betrays uncertain memory of whether I should be there. Colleagues unsurprised by arrival; wall chart says I am where I ought to be. Breathe sigh of relief, refuse offers of tea, log on and start work.
9:00: Eat modest pack of seaweed crackers absently while rubbing bump and listening to colleagues' stories of births they have known.
10:00: Coffee. Meeting. Unaccountable loss of memory when asked about response to a query from last week. Delve in notebook and come up with answer. Wistfully recall days when memory worked.
10:30: Orange. Melon. Mango. Pineapple. Mentally run through list of nearest sources of further pineapple, but can't be bothered to walk to Waitrose. Drink smoothie grumpily while wondering what idiot thought a dozen pineapple chunks were "a snack". Explain that I do not plan to watch One Born Every Minute till I have given birth. Smile modestly as colleagues compliment me on healthy food choices.
10:45: Large cappuccino and a Double Decker. Wonder why boobs so searingly painful. Very distracting. Can't even moan about it to colleagues. Go to toilet in order to hoist boobs up without everyone making Les Dawson comments. It hurts.
11:00: Need for pineapple getting desperate. Eat apple. It is no substitute.
11:35: How long till lunch? How long?
12:00: Crack and eat large salad full of basil oil and pine nuts. Wash down with approximately a litre of orange juice. Poke about on Babycentre website, wishing that I didn't come across the word "meconium" quite so often. It's probably the same colour as basil oil.
13:00: Teleconference. Am asked several times how long I have now. Answer to resulting swift mental calculation results in my having to have short lie down. Work frantically all afternoon until realise will miss train. Dash out of office at fastest waddle possible, looking like overfed walrus. Develop heartburn on route, adding to breathlessness. Swear at stupid man driver who nearly runs me over. Inventive vocabulary less effective when huffing like grampus.
17:00: Land up at station totally knackered. Go home and eat king-size plate of couscous with stuff in it that I made up out of the cupboard, followed by peaches and cream stuffed meringues.
18:00: Tidy things. House must be clean, clean, clean. Wield cloth energetically for forty minutes and collapse in a heap. Whinge about dust on skirting boards. Deny that this is nesting instinct, but remember that actually it never bothered me before I was pregnant. Continue to deny it.
20:00: TOAST.
22:15: Struggle up from sofa, go to bed with book.
3:00: Awake for loo trip. Get back to bed. Grump at overheating. Throw off duvets and remove pyjamas. Shift position like whale beaching itself. Repeat fifteen times. Snooze lightly.
3:10: Awake ravenous. Go in search of food. Milk. Crackers. Consider that roast lamb probably a bit of an ask. Eat further cracker.
3:20: Back to bed. Plan frantically. Organise things in brain. Wonder if valerian safe to take during pregnancy.
4:00: Finally fall asleep. Dreams confused and mainly about work.
7:25: Awake five minutes before alarm goes off, having forgotten all plans made in small hours.
Hmm. Starving.
