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Thursday morning, 2 am –

There’s nothing so lonely as the night when insomnia drags you from a warm, comfortable bed. So, here I am once again tap-tapping on my laptop in the small hours.
As usual I’m playing catch-up, though I haven’t been completely neglecting the writing since my last offering.

At the moment I find myself suffering from a wash of hesitation and indecision as to just how much detail to divulge. Perhaps it’s my hormones.

Some might laugh and say “bitch, it’s far too late to start fretting about such things, after the amount you’ve already given away.”

But that’s just it – the more I say, the greater the chance that someone who knows a little of my life story will do the maths, add two and two and come to the right conclusion.

The other thing that has slowed the process is… time – not too little, but too much.

When I started, I wrote as I thought, no editing, no back-tracking. Now, I find myself pouring over almost every sentence ad infinitum, chopping and changing, substituting and re-proofing. It’s exhausting.

So now you have my excuses, I promise it won’t be long before I take up the reigns of the story again. Now where were we………..?

What lies below was written back in April.

My world has been well and truly rocked. Here I am several months later, less able to see my feet than I was the last time I opened up my lap-top, with the intention of communicating with those few who are still interested in what has happened and is happening in my little life.

Yes, I’m as round as a barrel. My waist is daily disappearing; my ass is expanding; I waddle like a duck when I walk, and my tits…… lets not go there.

It seems like an age since I looked at that little blue line of fate appearing on the pregnancy test stick. I’d wanted this so badly……don’t get me wrong, I still want it, but I want it to be over. Today.

Some women I am told enjoy the nine months it takes to incubate the egg into a fully functioning independent life-form. Me, so-far it’s been day to day vomiting and increasing discomfort. I’m not so much blooming as ballooning.

He’s already the proud doting daddy. Every morning he kisses my bump and almost as an afterthought remembers that I’ve still got lips.

Of course he says that he doesn’t mind what it is. But I know he really wants a son. And I’d like to oblige, even though a little part of me would prefer that the little bundle has a vagina.

We still make love, more at my insistence – food, in the shape of soft iced-cream, asparagus and avocado isn’t all I crave……. all the time. I’ve never felt so constantly, overwhelmingly horny. I’ve really taken to bending over the sofa or kneeling on the edge of the bed. Of course he obliges, but he’s always so… so God-damned careful, loving and gentle, it makes me want to fucking scream. But the orgasms…..my God! They don’t just make me go weak at the knees, they actually turn my bones to water, and make the atomic bomb go off in you brain. Some of you ladies will know what I mean.

Then there is the other side of the news I divulged last October – my mother’s cancer diagnosis.
For her, the last five months have brought hospital visits, chemo, radio therapy, nausea, dizziness, sickness, hair-loss and bloating. It’s hard to watch someone you love, who was so alive and vibrant at the start of the year slowly transform into a listless wraith, staring into space, lost in her own diminishing world.
Even so, she tries very hard to be cheerful, which kind of makes it harder for those of us who love her.

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