S - Snoring

It's already started; it's here and he is leaving the bedroom. The Snore. No, correction, The Pregnancy Snore. A sound man thought woman could not make.

With our first child, he tried to "grin and bear" it. Because he was so excited about the arrival of his first child, it seemed like a small price to pay; the woman you love re-enacting sounds only ever heard on nature programmes as they film the largest species of bear hibernating in a dark, echoing cave. Of course he would try and nudge me, roll me over, even wake me up to tell the neighbours had just called and asked if I could keep it down. But it was to no avail. The Snore was staying for the duration. But with the second, as soon as it came, he would leave the bedroom, pillow over his shoulder, like a travelling sack, and retreat to the sofa, spare bed etc. Now, at six months pregnant with our third, he rarely makes it in the bedroom door. His rule is if he can hear me from the bottom of the stairs, as he makes his way to bed (I am usually asleep by 9.00pm), then he's not going to even attempt pleading with the growls for some sleep. He would rather take refuge on the empty top bunk in the kid's room.

I believe him. I don't think he is exaggerating at all. I have spent various nights on the maternity ward with both children, I have heard these heavily pregnant women rumble and roar in their sleep. Once, as he dropped me off in said ward, in the early hours of the morning, when my water's broke but labour lay dormant. We quietly shuffled into a ward and heard deep-throated, sleep grunts from behind the curtains.

"Am I as loud as that?" I whispered in disbelief.

"Louder." he replied iwthout smirk or trace of a wind up.

In this ward is where I also witnessed The Pregancy Fart, from the other side. But that's a whole new blog post.

T- Toilet Visits

Apparently, so I've been told, when you are pregnant it is legal to do a wee anywhere - ANY-WHERE! This includes a policeman's helmet; a policeman is under legal obligation to offer his helmet to a pregant woman who has been caught short.

Unfortunately, this gives me little comfort in the early hours of the morning as I waddle sleepily towards the toilet for the fourth time!

"It's preparing you for when they're here" knowing Mums would tell me, their voices encased with sadistic glee. At least when they're here the sleepless nights would be gratified with something small and wonderful to love, not just the knowledge that I am too fat to control my bladder and I if a policeman was here in bed with me he would have to offer me his helmet.

U - Underwear.

At 6 months pregnant my sister declared that since finding out she was pregnant she had already spent £150 on bras. These were bras without frills, lace, vintage design, spots, tassels, stripes or flowers. Just your plain, old basic bra. This was £150 spent on the M&S boulder holder!

There is no denying that pregnancy, breast feeding, stopping breast feeding and your new (not as good) boobs after the whole shabang takes it toll on your underwear drawer - be prepared to spend a fortune just to find some comfort and support from your lingerie!

Then the bottom half - knickers. "Just wait I told her" as she sat with her 6 month bump "That's nothing compared to the battle you're about to have with knickers. From 6 months pregnant the first, and hardest, challenge of the day is geting a pair a knickers on. Somewhere, from 6 months pregnant, the bending, pulling, stretching mechanism, which you once took for granted when pulling on a pair of pants, no longer exists. It has been replaced by a sharp, unbearable pain. Therfore you will have to devise many different techniques till you master the art of pulling on pants whilst pregnant.   Here are some iIam familiar with:

• toe hooking
• lying flat on the bed
• writhing and wriggling
• sitting on the side of the bed and ungracefully shuffling legs
• getting an unwilling partner to aid you (wouldn't reccomend)

F - Fannyache

Back pains, water infections, swollen feet, tender breasts, stomach cramps - I can deal with. But, fannyache - my lord that hurts.

There is no other way to describe it - fannyache - like someone stuck a two ton piece of lead up there and asked you to carry it around for 9 months! It bloody knacks!