This week my job is to take the minutes for a three day long meeting. But the start of the meeting has been pushed back a few hours because the airport is closed and no-one can get into town. If only I'd known before I dragged myself out of bed early this morning, after another night of broken sleep.
I had a bit of a grumble to my boss last week. My work days are Wednesday to Friday, and I kind of regret this because it means that I miss out on all those public holidays which fall on a Monday. I'd been philosophical about it though, because I knew that at least I would get Good Friday as a paid day off - until I realised that on the week of Good Friday I'd be asked to work Monday to Wednesday. Darned if I was going to miss out on my only paid day off! Anyway, the grumbling worked, because now I get a day off in lieu (that's not the same as a day off in the loo).
The boy has started calling me preg-head whenever I start to vague out. I would normally give him one of my "evil" looks, but they aren't working any more.
I decided its time to start wearing the maternity clothes which my sister-out-law lent me months ago. She's a little larger than I, so I'd have to pull the elastic in really tight so that the pants don't fall down. Even so, I keep having to hitch them up. When I do this at work, I get the feeling it doesn't look all that professional.
Looking at pictures of women at different stages of pregnancy in my Cosmopolitan Pregnancy magazine, I realise that my bump may well extend humungously over the next few weeks. The difference between the size of my bump at nearly 21 weeks, and that of Kylie of Melbourne at 23 weeks, looks like about twenty pizza's worth. Am I really going to distend that much over the next couple of weeks? Now I understand why I might get stretchmarks.