After what felt like an endless Christmas holiday, I am rather relieved that everything’s back to normal, not least that my three year old son’s pre-school has reopened again. By the end of the holidays it had become obvious that he had tired of ‘quality time’ with his parents and was merely humouring us while counting down the hours before he could get back to his friends. Even my husband’s mood has improved since he started work again. There’s a limit to how much restless hanging out a family can do without driving each other bonkers. It’s not even as if I’m allowed a stiff drink to smooth the edges of the new year. This said, the very fact that I am still pregnant is cause for celebration - after a premature delivery last time, I’m at risk again. Every time the doctors see me – almost as often as my husband does, I seem to spend my life in the ante-natal waiting room – I think I’ll get a gold star, having got thus far to 29 weeks. I’m divided between elation at my obedient womb and panic at the fact that every time I pass into a new trimester my deadline for book three looms ever closer. Both book and baby are on a race to the finishing line. Let’s hope the book gets there first.
Happy new year!
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