“So, the immune system tends to go out the window a bit during the second trimester”. My GP delivered this line to me, followed by a chuckle. I didn’t find it quite as funny as I sat there with my double eye infection, chest infection and tonsillitis. Hilarious. I’m feeling a bit run down this week to say the least.

“Ahhh, I can see a little willy sticking up! It’s a boy!” And so we are having another boy! All I could see was fuzz if I’m completely honest, but this only makes me respect the expertise of the sonographer even more. We’ve just had our 20 week scan and are delighted and relieved that all is going well.

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.

Absolutely massive pants have completely saved me this week. Last week I was pretty much crippled with pelvic girdle pain, which arrived a few weeks ago just as my sickness stopped, and so felt like a double kick between the legs. I was pretty pissed off, trust me.

There isn’t much call to think about nipple cream before you have a baby, but advice from a friend on using the stuff before I had my first baby was some of the most helpful wisdom I received. During pregnancy, it can feel like there is so much to do, so much to buy, and so much to organise and it’s very easy to focus all your planning on the tiny human who hasn’t even arrived yet.

It has happened. Whilst getting changed for bed last night, I leant forwards without the support of my trusty maternity bra and my boobs met my belly. I was greeted by that warm and slightly clammy feeling of soft flesh on flesh, which as someone with a slightly less than well stocked rack, I don’t usually get.

Man, is it hot?! It is HOT! Just to clarify, we are in a heatwave. It is officially the warmest June day since 1976. OK, so hottest, coldest, wettest, driest, windiest, cloudiest (etc.) records aren’t that unusual in recent times, but we still love to make a big thing of them. And what is more, we Brits love a good moan and the chance to revel in the novelty of sunshine in whatever way we see fit.

This week I had to go for a glucose tolerance test as a check for gestational diabetes, which involved fasting, blood tests and quite a lot of waiting around. Less fun than a trip to the seaside but perhaps more fun than colonic irrigation.

This week I am auditioning for the role of Oscar the Grouch. I am starting to get major pangs of impatience and this is making me a bit of a nightmare to live with. After 29 weeks it feels like I have been pregnant for an eternity. In fact, have I ever not been pregnant? Surely I’ve done my time. Having to go another 11, or jeez, maybe 13 more weeks seems pretty unfathomable at the moment.

In general, I am a big fan of a foot rub, but when pregnant it is my catnip. If you want to get on side, offer me a foot massage. Well, maybe only if you’re a licensed professional, otherwise it might be a bit weird. If you’re not a licensed professional, vouchers for establishments employing licensed professionals would be gratefully received. Just saying.

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.

My Google search terms this week have been as follows: “waters breaking early”; “what does amniotic fluid smell like?”; “week 32 discharge”; “wet knickers in late pregnancy”. It turns out, my waters haven’t broken early and it is indeed quite normal to leak wee in late pregnancy. Oh good.

Brace yourselves for a Theresa May style U turn. I have decided that a homebirth would be the best option for me this time. Cough. Yes, yes, I know this is a little surprising based on previous expressions of opinion. After my week 16 midwife appointment I got all arsey about having a big pink sticker on my notes saying: “You are recommended to have a homebirth”.

My son is two today and this is strangely and unexpectedly very emotional. I feel joyful and proud of the little human he is, reflective and nostalgic that he’s no longer a baby, and somewhat euphoric for actually keeping him alive for two whole years.

Cot built. Check. Car seat installed. Check. Baby clothes washed and folded away. Check. Preparing for birth course completed. Check. We have just done a brilliant birth preparation course with LushTums and already I am feeling a lot more calm and positive about what's to come.

This week I have been frantically nesting, feeling an overwhelming urge to get organised. I have been scouring the house, tackling tasks that have been on the to-do list since January (it’s now August), and generally exhibiting mild obsessive compulsive disorder.

We've done it. We're there. 37 weeks. We have reached the point of watermelon. There are no more fruit based analogies on offer. The baby is now considered "full term". He's cooked and just plumping up in there, using the time to rest and relax, watch movies, read magazines, brush up on his French.

I think I have heard the word "no" approximately 8000 times today. My son is definitely on to us about this new baby lark and is having none of it this week. He's only two so it's easy for me to project in error, but I'm sure he is sensing that something odd is imminent.