Friday, 10 December 2010


Still a week to go until the 12-week scan. I can't wait till I can tell people about the baby and explain the new pot belly I'm sporting isn't there because I've been eating three pork pies and several Marmite cheesy bites between every meal (I have).

Getting ready for the Lilleys' wedding party tonight was quite traumatic. Most of my cute, tight cocktail dresses now make me look like a burst cocktail sausage.

I tried on each one in turn, parading them in front of Pete, demanding that he be honest and throwing a strop when he was.

Eventually we found a winner. "Yes, that's the one!" said Pete, as I twirled around in the black chiffon number. "That dress doesn't make you look pregnant, just fat!"

Some other words were then exchanged.

Reminds me of the other day, when I was gratefully complimenting Pete on how lovely he's been when it comes to looking after me and making sure I have everything I need.

"Well, I know that as long as you're warm, fed and and not in any distress, you're fine," said Pete. "It's a bit like having a horse, really."

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