It's the middle of the night (4.47am to be precise) and I am 36 weeks pregnant, feeling like a beached whale. I'm absolutely ravenous but too lazy to go downstairs to grab some leftovers from last night's cottage pie (cooked by DO - darling other).
Being up the duff, I've ended up living with DO not in the shining metropolis that was my home - London - but, albeit temporarily, in this dismal Northern town. It's a three bedroomed house here with real fires and freedom to bang as many nails in the wall as I want.
But yet I miss London with an overwhelming agony and long for a too small overpriced magnolia flat again where the only thing that keeps you up at night is the traffic and sounds of constantly emptying all night bars. Here the only thing that keeps me up is my growling stomach and the growls of DO who seems to have hidden an intensive snoring habit from me in all the weekends we spent together over the last 5 years.
I hope this blog will show me up for being the whingeing ungrateful bag that I certainly am. I have been given the greatest gift in the universe with this unexpected but already adored baby. I'm just finding it hard to adjust to life where the only entertainment within a 10 mile radius is the one decent coffee shop, a mile away.
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