Behaviour in pregnancy

Treating your neighbour to a ten-minute monologue on your sore boobs, varicose veins and uncontrollable flatulence in response to her polite ‘how are you’, when the most you’ve said to her in the three years you’ve lived next door is ‘fine thanks, and you?’

Buying clothes that are two sizes too big for you and actually looking forward to the day they fit.

Gazing adoringly at your scan picture several times a day and saying ‘Look, there’s its knee caps. Oh, the baby’s got knee caps, how amazing is that?’ to random strangers.

Having to take your brie, basil and tomato baguette back to Pret A Manger and asking if you can change it for a tuna one because you’d temporarily forgotten that brie’s off the menu…

… and adding another piece of carrot cake to your order while you’re there, just in case you happen to mislay the piece that you bought earlier in the time it takes you to walk back to your office.

Being completely unimpressed by your friend’s new Blackberry, but going into raptures about the, count them, 120 channels on your new baby monitor.

Going out for a meal with your mates and grabbing all the after-dinner chocolate mints before anyone else has even registered that the bill has arrived.

Having to switch off Planet Earth halfway through because you’re so distressed by the poor mummy penguins having to leave their eggs with the daddy penguins for months while they go off to search of food.

Spluttering toast crumbs all over the man sitting next to you on the train while giving him a look which says ‘Hey buddy, if I wasn’t eating this, there’s every possibility I’d be barfing into your briefcase right now, so consider yourself lucky.’

Adopting the three-dessert rule. One with breakfast, one with lunch and one with dinner. Of course, missing out one of these vital portions does mean having to double up at your next meal.

Swapping your celeb gossip mag for a week-by-week to your pregnancy book which weighs so much that just lifting your handbag onto the bus counts as one of your recommended three weekly exercise sessions.

Taking popcorn, Haagen Daz and a bag of Jelly Babies into the cinema, then sending your bloke out halfway through the movie to get you a large portion of cheesy nachos as well.

Compiling a secret list of baby names that you guard as jealously as you once did your diary listing all your teenage crushes.

Becoming so blasé about having wind that you no longer bother checking if anyone’s behind you before letting rip whilst walking up the street, in the bus queue, at the checkout…

Realising that the deeply profound conversations you used to have with your friends after a few cocktails aren’t quite so life affirming when you’re sipping your third virgin pina colada through clenched teeth.

Concentrating so hard on doing your pelvic floor exercises on the station platform that three trains pull in and leave again before you realise you’re going to be half an hour late for work. Then wisely deciding that honesty is probably not the best policy when you call the office to explain.

Happily bidding farewell to your vast collection of thongs and wholeheartedly embracing full-coverage boy shorts instead.

Knowing that if you’re going to get stretchmarks you’re going to get them, whether you buy a really expensive stretchmark cream or rub lard on your belly. Then going out and spending £60 on a stretchmark cream anyway.

Discovering that your new favourite position in bed is fast asleep on your own while your partner watches the News at Ten in another room.

Getting so used to taking wee samples to your antenatal appointments that you plonk one down at reception when you go for your dental check up. Then finding the receptionist’s evident mortification hilarious rather then embarrassing.

Getting onto the train in the morning and having to get straight off again because someone in that carriage of 50 or more people had garlic last night.

Making the alarming discovery that, since you became pregnant, chocolate manufacturers have reduced the size of their individual bars, forcing you to buy family-sized packs to compensate.

Completely forgetting that you were in Boots in the first place because you’d run out of conditioner and lipstick that morning and spending your entire lunch hour reading the back of nappy packs and sniffing bottles of baby lotion.