Choo choo

I come to you from an iPad on a train.

This morning Steve and I set off on our last just-the-two-of-us holiday. We considered Barbados, toyed with San Francisco, nearly went for Fiji before deciding on Chester.

Our bags were packed and we hitched a lift to the station with the father-in-law (£10 a day to park at the station? No thank you!). After a brief 5 minutes in the sunshine, we boarded our train. Steve carried our matching cases to the luggage rack while I evicted a squatter from our reserved seats; normally one to feel guilty about such things, even this didn't dent my mood, I mean, I am nearly 7 months pregnant and he was drinking lager at 11am and reading the Daily Sport.

We settled in our seats, made sure our tickets were to hand so as not to delay the ticket inspector when he came and took out our respective books.

Ten minutes passed.

Steve remarked that he was peckish. I brought out the bag of triangle cut cheese sandwiches which he had made this morning.

'Hmmmm', he pondered, 'But it is only 11am, maybe I should wait until 12.'

'We're on holiday', I reasoned, 'And besides, I have pepper sticks as well for later.'

He tucked in.

Two minutes passed.

Steve stopped mid bite.

'Dear God, what the hell has happened to us?'

'What?' I replied, crunching on a pepper stick.

'We are too young to be sitting on a train on our way to a summer holiday in Chester, debating whether to eat our sandwiches in plastic bag even though it is technically not lunch time.'

I let this statement sink in for a second.

'We could attempt to do it in the train toilet?' I halfheartedly ventured.

Steve's eyed my large bump and then wearily,

'For the sake of logistics and common decency, I think it is best that we read our books.'

For I am a rare breed

Things have been busy here.

Steve has been working super hard, not only at his actual job but on his degree, it has been a huge undertaking but one, I am glad to say, he is excelling at.

We have had some lovely family birthdays to celebrate.

Preparations are being made for my lovely in laws wedding which is two weeks today.

The house has been completely ignored due all the business.

And me, well I have been mainly getting fatter, failing at hypnobirthing classes (it seems I am not great at relaxing..), laughing at the wriggles in my tummy and thinking about my own birthday.

Yes, you remember I love birthdays don't you? All birthdays but my own is, of course, super special. Why it has not been made a public holiday yet is beyond me. I love everything about birthdays, the celebrations, the cards, the love and, I am not ashamed, the presents! I am a very lucky girl - my friends and family are always too nice and buy me things when they really don't need to but this year I am a tad worried.

The problem is, I suppose, I am fairly unusual as a female. You see, I am finally going to admit it....

I hate baths.

Yep, really. The water gets too cold, too quickly, I get bored very, very easily and, after about 8 minutes I start to feel like I am just lying there, stewing in my own dirt. I mean ew. Why do that and waste an hour of my life running the thing, getting in, getting bored, getting cold when I could jump in the shower and achieve the same result in a quarter of the time?

Yes, my hatred of baths is nearly legendary among my family but it does cause a problem around present giving times. You see, the bath hating is slightly extended to general pampering. Don't get me wrong, I like to paint my nails.... no wait, I like it when my nails are painted, but treatments leave me cold. I don't get it. And don't even mention spa days or massages. I am very funny about being massaged and really feel quite ill with it. I am a rubbish girl aren't I?

Which brings me back to the birthday issue... being up the hilary, the usual staple gifts of alcohol and clothes are out - am I doomed to be overwhelmed by a million bath sets?!

My knocked up self

So I am 26 and a half weeks pregnant now and definitely look it, no longer am I the girl who could have just eaten a big lunch.

It is very strange watching your body change. I have always felt fairly comfortable in my skin; I have had body hang ups like everyone and will never be my thighs biggest fan but generally I have always been pretty happy with my lot.

I therefore never really thought about how I would feel about pregnancy changing my body, I assumed I would be perfectly happy and embrace it.

And I have.

But it is disconcerting. Not just in the things no longer fit way (I miss you pink vest top!) but in the way your body is no longer your own. There are wriggles and kicks and punches in your tummy that you have no control over. Someone else has literally set up camp in you. And things that were super easy before such as putting socks on or tying a shoe become five minute tasks as you just don't bloody bend that way! Gone too are the looks from boys across a pub, I am now very much the up the duff one and therefore invisible to the male species. Now, yes, I am with husband and yes, we are very happy but seriously ladies, we all appreciate the odd admiring glance from a randomer from time to time don't we?

Balancing all these physical changes with crazy hormones is fun to start with and I generally manage it and feel like a hot 27 year old woman with child and then someone comments,

"Wow Liv, you are huge! Are you sure you aren't having twins?"

"God, you have really got big now, you won't be able to fit through doors soon."

And I am nearly a quivering mess of tears.

I swear, I will always remember this when I am talking to a pregnant woman from now on - and people, if you know of someone avec un bebe dans le tummy then please just say the following:

"How are you? You look gorgeous! Best looking pregnant person I have seen!"

THE END

ps. as a side note I must mention that The Boobs have also reached gargantuan proportions; put it this way, I am approaching the second half of the alphabet in cup size at a disturbing pace!