Paint and hedgehogs...

Today was a momentous day in our house: the nursery is finally decorated and all finished. Curtains up, lamp shade changed, cot assembled, changing unit ready, walls painted, wallpaper border firmly stuck and tiny clothes hanging in the wardrobe. We went for a unisex woodland theme in the end. I love it - hedgehogs everywhere!

The Other Half even bought the hedgehog shaped rug I had been bleating on about for the last month.

It's all starting to feel very real and imminent. And with six and a bit weeks to go, I really should pack my hospital bag.

Just in case.

The calming influence of The Other Half...

Tonight we had a horrible scare. I had my routine 31-week midwife check and all was going well until she started to listen to the baby's heartbeat. Normally this is a wonderful few minutes when yes, you do have to roll your top up, lie back and have cold jelly squirted onto your stomach, but you get to hear the amazing thudding heartbeat of your child in utero.

'It's very fast at the moment,' she said, and scribbled some numbers down on her pad. 'We'll listen again in a minute.' Repeat process. Same outcome. 'I'm going to listen for 5 minutes this time, as it's still not coming down.' Five minutes passed, more numbers scribbled. 'The baby's heart rate is very fast, and it's not coming down. It's around 190 bpm and the normal rate is between 120-140. This could be nothing to worry about; it may be the baby is just having a particulary busy afternoon in there that we've caught the middle of. But I'd like to send you up to the antenatal unit at your hospital to be on the safe side.'

We went to hospital, where I was hooked up to the fetal heart monitor (a very large, cold metal belt with a sensor on the buckle to record the baby's heartbeat) and checked and prodded by several midwives and an obstetrician. I've never seen so much graph paper in my life, and it was all coming out of the machine I was rigged up to. Finally, after three hours sitting in this room where women in varying stages of labour pain were coming and going, with The Other Half making conversation in an attempt to keep me calm, the doctor gave us the all-clear. Turns out they think I have a particulary active baby in there. But if I feel any pain at all, or the baby stops moving at all, I'm so go straight back to the unit. Relief.

Thank God everything is alright. And that The Other Half was with me - I would have been more of an incomprehensible quivering wreck had he not. He took us out for tea on the way home, and I burst into tears waiting in TGI Fridays for my chicken wrap. I think the enormity of everything hit me. I'm going to be a mother. And worry about this little person forever.

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want...

This pregnancy continues to amaze me. A couple of nights ago I went along for a work's night out in the Salsa Cafe in town, where we were all munching on nachos and sipping sangria (virgin in my case), chatting about this, that and the other and the subject of pregnancy cravings came up. The usual tales about people eating industrial-sized jars of mayonnaise and gherkins were thrown into the mix, along with the obligatory 'I know someone who knows someone who ate chalk when pregnant (or add any other disgusting substance here - sometimes it's coal)' story, and I was asked whether I'd experienced any cravings yet.

I haven't had any, I explained. Apart from a couple of times after I'd stopped feeling car sick all the live long day and quite fancied a chocolate milkshake. But I don't think that was a proper craving, more like me really wanting milkshakes and using pregnancy as an excuse to have them. Yup, I thought I'd missed the boat with cravings.

Anyway, on my way home that evening I suddenly had an all-compassing hankering for (and this has divided the office as to whether this this absolutely rank or not) tinned mackerel and cucumber sandwiches. So much so, that I had to call The Other Half and ask him to make me some (and go and buy the bits if we didn't have the ingredients). He did both dutifully. (Even cut them into triangles as they taste better that way.) I have had mackerel and cucumber sandwiches every evening since. It's not so weird, is it? No different to tuna or salmon sandwiches? Well, that's my comeback anyway, when someone at work asks what the fishy pong emitting from my lunchbox is.

Bon Voyage...

Goodbyes are never fun, but at least we did in (comedy) style! Yesterday we gathered a leaving party together to bid adieu to my pal S, who is off to start her PGCE and new life in Cardiff. And how did we mark the occasion? We took a cruise! In a manner of speaking. Well, I say cruise - I mean a tourist sightseeing boat up the Tyne. That still counts though, doesn't it? It went to the mouth of the Tyne and slightly into the North Sea, after all... and we saw a seal. Just the one, mind.

However, it did also have a so-bad-it-was-hilarious running commentary delivered by an old feller who keep telling us to look for buildings which no longer existed. And we were mooned at from the banks of the river by some scrawny looking young miscreants. But other than that, not a bad way to spend a bank holiday Sunday, all in all. I'd just have been under the duvet watching something shameful like Hollyoaks, ordinarily. But most importantly, S seemed to have a tip top time.

I didn't know what to get her for a leaving present, though. So, since she is about to embark upon student life (very brave to do it for the second time, and this time as an older and wiser mid-twentysomething - hopefully), I opted for a DIY student pack of essential university fare. I had great fun wrapping up mini variety boxes of cereal, instant noodles, a baked beans tin and a bottle of brown ale should she get homesick one night and feel the need for the blue-starred stuff. Oh, and the obligatory loo roll. You can never have too much loo roll.

And we still have no idea what a foot muff is for...

Who knew there were so many bloody makes of pram? Each with different terminology so you need a degree accredited by flaming Mothercare just to enter the store and be allowed to look at the displays. My mind has been spinning all the live long day. Strollers? 2-in1 prams? Travel systems? 3-wheelers? Tandems? (Actually - I think tandem is one we can safely cross off the list, since we know there is only one wriggler in there. At least I hope we can cross it off.) It really a minefield out there.

We've been into at least five separate shops - sometimes more than once - to compare things. And what did we discover? They're all con artists! The cheaper ones all feel like they've been built out of sticks and will implode and eat your baby. So you find something you think will work from the mid-priced section that meets all your criteria, see the price and think 'oh, well - that's not too bad.' Then you look closely and realise that the price is the pram frame only, and doesn't include the carrycot. Or the foot muff. Oh, and if you need a car seat, that's an extra £100. Plus the same again for the base. And don't forget your accessory pack - you might not be able to buy matching changing bags or parasols at a later date. By the time you've totted up the grand total, you've spent £750 quid on a flipping buggy without trying. And you still ask yourself what the hell a foot muff is, and do we need one?

In the end we decided to go for a model that was tall enough for The Other Half to push as well as me (it's always tricky, what with him being almost 6"5), would not involve taking out a second mortgage to pay for it, did not feel like it was made of matchsticks, and most importantly - could be collapsed one-handed without me bursting into tears in the middle of the shop crying that it's too heavy and I couldn't do it. It was tough, but we got there in the end - after several long hours beating away salespeople. And it'll be delivered next week so we have plenty of time to work out what a foot muff is actually for. Right, that's the pram sorted. Now for the cot...

Oh, and on the plus side, I was treated to a very nice chocolate milkshake in a diner this afternoon. Think it was for good behaviour, or at least good behaviour in the circumstances.