I am a disgrace. You’d think I didn’t care about this diary. The one I so fervently promised to keep faithfully. Well no, I don’t care right now, and though I know that in The Fuchure I will care, and will wish I had cared, that’s just not getting me anywhere right now.

I always feel as I don’t have anything much to say. Pregnant. Almost 15 weeks. Yay. Nothing else happening. I’m waiting to feel the first movement: so far I’ve sometimes persuaded myself that I feel the fuzzy buzzy feeling it was before, but I think I’m just kidding myself. Next week, maybe.

But now I look back and see that I haven’t updated for yonks, and we had the heartbeat and the ultrasound and went public and everything, so I can’t say that nothing’s happened. The heartbeat was fine, though it took the (male) midwife forever to find it and he was starting to look worried (I wasn’t: I was more concerned with Monkey keeping himself out of trouble while I was pinned to the table with jelly on my stomach). Anyway, he finally found the little blighter hiding down in the bottom left quadrant, heart swishing away.

The next day we went for the ultrasound, and yes, it’s a baby-shaped baby in there, flipping around like a goldfish and already putting paid to my notions of a nice quiet placid baby this time round. It even waved for the photos, which was nice.