16/12/2012 14:58 GMT | Updated 15/02/2013 05:12 GMT

The Eternal Optimist

- The continuing diary of an accidental mother - Week 24

Fare the well oh corporal body bits. I waved adieu to the tops of my thighs and higher. 'We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when...' Well, actually, I did sort of, reckoning on at least a couple of years.

Previous marvelling at the human female form has now turned to gasps of bewilderment. I was seeing bits of my body I had never seen before and losing sight of other bits; my nipples were darkening, the bump beginning to feel heavy and the belly button on the turn - inside out.

Meanwhile my brain was fusing, confusing and I turned up at the hospital with a friend to attend an imaginary scan, having mistaken the time, day, and month of the next appointment. As for those pregnancy hormones, they rode that fair ground attraction nonstop, up, down and bumpsadaisy.

Of an evening The Interloper and I were glued to One Born Every Minute. Invariably tears would spill when the baby emerged, on the realisation there really was no going back. The Glam Rocker refused to watch, the Glam Rocker refused to read anything on childbirth. He thought it best to leave the pregnancy 'stuff' to me.... Occasionally he'd chip in with a suggestion for a name, like Coach for a boy or Harper for a girl (after the novelist) but quickly back tracked when he realised a certain little Beckham carried the latter.

On the home front, we, the Glam Rocker and I were looking for one; to share...together. Having purposely avoided living with a man throughout most of my adult life this was a massive deal for me. Past times I sneered at the thought of compromise cohabitation entails but out of the blue a call came through from the estate agents. Our dream house sighted months ago was back on the market.

Suddenly reveries of family life in a Victorian terrace ignited. It had bay windows, a big back garden and a war bunker. It was not the perfect house but did provide a space within which the Glam Rocker and I could easily co-exist. I bagsied the top floor and he could have the basement, we would meet half way - see that's the kind of compromise I was thinking about.

We met with the Vendor, she liked us and we liked her. Unable to stop myself I envisaged us building a life there as a family. I sprinkled the place with the patter of tiny feet, the clod wallop of teenager's doc martins, the click of high heels, the dinner parties, garden parties, Saturday nights in front of the TV, gatherings and family get togethers, birthday parties, the place overrun with kids, the ever elusive moment of peace, the constant mess, the clearing up, the unwanted guests/cousins/relatives, the never emptying laundry basket, the pile of ironing you swore you would never do, the arguments, temper tantrums, unmet expectations, disappointments, the Saturdays nights spent in watching tv, the boredom, the routine - well you can tell where I was going with this line of thought -


The Glam Rocker says I am emotionally immature. Perhaps... perhaps... I hope. It was a bewitching house so we looked at our assets, played with our assets, inflated our assets we decided to bite the bullet and made an offer.....


Womb to Rent...

Your nine month tenant is snug as a bug in a rug... and regularly sleeping and waking. Real hair is growing on his or her head.