Birthday number zero

I have just a few weeks until my baby has their zero birthday. The first trimester (or worst trimester) seems far more than a cluster of weeks ago where sickness lay, waiting to be ejected but never actually coming through and cravings arrived in the form of aversions.  Much to my own amusement I couldn't be near coffee, bananas or peanut butter. Luckily this has since passed and as I write, I sit, with an enormous piece of buttered toast lathered in yet more peanut butter. Eating for two remember?
Tiredness has arrived like a lead weight and I kid myself that I partied the previous night. Sleeping has become my main occupation - that is, interrupted sleeping. Weeing up to multiple times a night was the norm at week 20, luckily this has now changed to just a once nightly habit but one that I’m completely unable to kick.
Stats tell me that I have a 2k bag of flour permanently attached to my stomach and so I suppose its no wonder that life is slowing down. Long baths, poor television and feather pillows are becoming more important to me by the day. Hen parties are becoming a little more challenging. And weddings. And tube journeys.

Alice made my baby their zero birthday cake in the most tender of gestures. I wept, I’m not exactly sure why but I have a feeling it will be the first of many tears over the next little while.