A number of people I know are pregnant at the moment and they’ve reached that happy stage of the third trimester where everything is oh so slightly uncomfortable, including sleep.

Slowly over the months they have been collecting pillows one by one. Arranging one behind their back, one between their thighs, one under the belly – now full and heavy – until it takes at least ten minutes to settle in the right spot – cocooned on what was once Passion Central and is now divided by… The Pillow Wall.

It’s in fact remarkably comfortable as I discovered when posing for this photograph to illustrate my point, but does tend to exclude the non-pregnant other.

My friend the other night complained bitterly that night after night he was slowly edged to the side of the bed until now his head rests on the bedside table and it is only by the most precarious of balancing acts that he sleeps – and he’s got six weeks to go!

(How is it that men hijack the most female of journeys? Once again – it’s all about them!)
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He was slightly hysterical – not coping with the musical experience that was Miss Saigon.

In fact, just after the big chorus girl number his girlfriend got up and left rather quickly during the applause as if she was in the midst of a medical emergency. A minute later, my friend, acting all worried and concerned, followed her out. It was a performance that left us gasping with laughter.

The conversation at interval though did take me back nearly 11 years to my last pregnancy and my pillow wall.

Did you have one?
PS: An historical note. The pyjama pants I’m wearing in the photo were bought for me to wear in hospital the day Dippity was born. Groover had learned from Hugamuga’s birth, when he bought me the foulest, most unattractive, nasty nighties – a bit like surgical gowns without the gap in the back – to TMATP! The tee-shirt we bought on our honeymoon when we visited Eurodisney – which puts it at circa 1992.

PPS: TMATP=Throw Money At The Problem