WITH just two weeks to go until popping out time I am starting to feel the pace. The stairs are no friend to me these days as I tend to be a wheezing heap in need of a lie down by the time I reach the top.

Similarly, keeping up with Ben is no easy task. Maternity leave has been great, don’t get me wrong, but crikey it’s been hard work. The idea was that I would get all my bits and pieces done in readiness for the imminent arrival and spend more quality time with my firstborn.

I didn’t quite appreciate how much physical activity that would entail. First time around at eight months I am sure I was feet up on sofa, cake resting on bump watching the entire series of Friends for the 20th time – bliss. This time I find myself clambering in and out of a lorry-shaped tent, running away from a growling Ben (as he attempts his best Tyrannosaurus Rex impersonation) and waking up at the crack of dawn to play eye spy (with little success). I am pooped. It is not lost on me that this situation is not set to improve.

Many a friend and relative has pointed this out to me, telling me I really should take it easy while I can and go back to sleep at every available opportunity. This is a fine theory but this would mean in practice that my son would never be dressed, fed, toileted or away from the television.

On that note he has been in front of Postman Pat now for some time and I really should once again get into character. Today we are mostly being delivery drivers and I have a consignment of ‘horsey poo’ that needs dropping off.