Feel like you’ve been kicked in the vagina? Tada! That’s pelvic girdle pain! Thanks pregnancy. On a positive note, “pelvic pain” can be sung to the tune of the 1990s hit single “Kiss the Rain” by Billie Myers when you are doing the washing up: “Pelvic pain? Whenever you need to pee. Pelvic pain, whenever you walk for too long; if you’re hips feel twingey and achy; pelvic pain.”

So, it turns out it is OK to cry uncontrollably during a pregnancy yoga class. I must point out that it should be OK to cry pretty much anywhere when you are pregnant. There should be signs up that say this and leaflets handed out to all women of child bearing age. And to men, to help them cope. It's OK to sob like a baby when you are growing one, because it's bloody hard work.

Man, am I tired this week. Bone tired. I just feel heavy and drowsy and in need of a good duvet. Afternoons are particularly snoozesome, but in all honesty, so are most parts of the day. I sometimes have a window around 10.30am when I am totally on fire, usually after my second cup of tea (no, not decaf — come on people, tea basically tastes like dirty dishwater and its only redeeming feature is the caffeine; it used to be the heat and the caffeine but I don’t often get to drink it hot these days).

We are off to a wedding this weekend. The first of three weddings during this pregnancy. The first of three tent like outfits, three attempts not to look like an out of control beach ball on the dance floor, three evenings of sober conversation with mega drunk people, but also three toddler free weekends.

This week we have been living it up in the Isle of Wight. This is holidaying at its most intrepid. I would consider myself as reasonably well travelled and fairly adventurous on the whole, but since having our first son our passports have seen bugger all action. We've indulged in a long weekend in the new forest (ooh la la), another at the Suffolk Center Parcs (get us), and now we're jetting off to sunny Seaview, wait for it, for a whole week.