I haven’t felt like posting this week. In fact, I haven’t felt like doing much – apart from scoff whole chocolate cakes and imagine myself as Cinderella, crouched by the hearth, sewing chainmail with the thinnest of steel needles that make my fingers bleed. Yes, I have been feeling excruciatingly sorry for myself.

Why? Let me count the reasons. First of all, my best friend goes on maternity leave this Friday. You see, some 25 years ago we hatched a plan in our local playground; it involved us marrying brothers, going on maternity leave together and then returning to said playground to swing our respective babies in a mist of Earth Motherly happiness. The first bit of the plan panned out well, we married brothers and we still live near our childhood playground. As for the second part of the plan, well, it looks like I’ll be standing her up at the swings for another year, or three… who knows how long? By the time I turn up she’ll have made a million other plans that don’t involve me.

Then, my Beloved Husband’s best friend had his first baby this week, a little girl. Apparently she looks just like her Dad. It made me think what our baby might look like if it resembled my husband. Beautiful, I thought. Then I felt quite sad.

Anything else, while we’re here? Yes. BH’s test results are round the corner which continues to be a source of great stress.

And, FINALLY, I’m in the painful wait for my period. In this week’s yoga lesson I had an overwhelming sensation, almost like a vision, that I… wasn’t pregnant. It came about when I was lying on my front, about to do an upward dog. My breasts weren’t remotely sore, so I decided I wasn’t pregnant. I felt sad, went home, told my husband and he got sad too.

I am hoping that next week I will have the energy to wash the shoot off my face, bandage my poor, bleeding fingers and get dressed up, ready to go to the ball.