While all this emotional and physical cartography was happening externally, internally I was beset with a belly full of love flutters. There could be no mistaking the movements as gathering wind. The Interloper was growing at an almighty rate and I bludgeoned by tiredness.

Four and a half months in and I am finding having a decent telephone conversation hard enough, never mind a full night's sleep. So why would a mere mortal mother bother to compare herself with a mumpreneur?

Surely, a woman is at her most beautiful when pregnant? A sexual being bearing fruit, oozing fertility. There is nothing in my mind more intensely sensual, provocative, or potent. Then again, maybe it's the hormones, and I was in a pregnant bubble of delusion.

After the fast living, rock star adrenaline pumped existence of nonstop touring, partying and god knows what else, the Glam Rocker announced it would take a while to settle back into civvy life. To hasten the process, within two hours of his arrival, jet-lagged and plane-weary, I dragged him straight to the antenatal unit for our 20-week scan.

I was out having lunch with an aunt when the phone rang. "You are not going to believe this." It was the Glam Rocker sounding jubilant. "Believe what?" "The band have been offered a world tour supporting a huge international female artist. Guess," he said, "Guess who?" I ran through the usual suspects Madonna, Rihanna, Beyoncé?