You might be surprised to know that today I’m sporting some very foxy jimjams.

Oh yes, indeed: white bottoms with a slinky purple design, and a purple vest top which unclips in all the right places. (Not for seduction of the opposite sex, silly – for giving Bubba his breakfast).

Yup, I’m now the proud possessor of the ultimate pair of maternity PJs, and guess what? They were a very generous gift from one of my longest-standing mates.

In a life full of fairly pleasant things, this is one of the nicest things that’s happened to me for ages: in fact, I was so pleased and surprised when the parcel arrived that I couldn’t withhold a little sniffle. I think I may even have quavered slightly as I left a thank you on her answer machine. (Yes, I know. I know! I’m pregnant, remember?)

Anyway, I was extremely grateful, and it was very nice to be pampered by my pal – especially since Cupid done me wrong yet again this year.

Yes, as usual, the 14th of February whizzed past with not so much as a text message from the opposite sex, never mind flowers and choccies … or indeed any other token of love, lust or affection. Not unless you count an affectionate heel in the ribs from Bub, that is.

Actually, it’s lucky that I’m so completely enamoured with my little pud, because there’s absolutely nothing cooking on the man front otherwise: the Darkly Intriguing has disappeared off the face of the earth, and The Semi-suitable Man is loved up with a new lady … and whilst I’m naturally very happy for him, it does mean there’s one less name on my list of hopeless crushes.

(Actually, there were never very many names on the list in the first place. I think he may have been the only one. Hmmf.)

I did get a call from The Divine One, telling me how he’s brought me some aphrodisiac sweeties from his travels … though I wasn’t quite sure how to take that. But otherwise, my male interaction level is skimming the ground like a low-flying stone.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a woman who looks more like a watermelon isn’t being flooded with romantic offers, but who doesn’t like a bit of love and affection now and again? Ah well, I can dream!

Anyway, in other news, relations with the Baby Daddy remain cordial. This is something of a blessing given our turbulent history, and something I should strive to maintain at all costs. But it isn’t always easy.

Take ‘the holiday debacle’, for instance.

I mean, I know I’m biased, but for me the biggest event on my calendar is Bub’s arrival. Anything and everything I’m doing is leading up to that. I’d go as far as to say that my schedule is pretty much divided into pre-Bub and post-Bub activities, with a big and excitable star scrawled next to April 9th.

So of course I found it hard to believe that the Baby Daddy is planning his Easter holidays … with his return pencilled in just three days before Bub’s due date.

At first I was outraged. How could he be so careless about our little one’s entry to the world? Isn’t it THE most exciting thing to happen in the world EVER?

And then I finally realised that he’s just not that excited by Bub’s arrival. And as soon as I realised that, I cancelled my appointment to go and talk with him, because I realised there really was nothing to say.

And I immediately felt better.

Of course, with the little one growing in my belly day by day, I can’t wait for the magical moment that I get to meet him. I really can’t wait to see my little bundle, in all his pink and wrinkly newborn glory.

And naturally, since the Baby Daddy doesn’t have the luxury of that experience, he doesn’t share my enthusiasm. He hasn’t had the chance to feel Bub kick and roll and get the hiccups three times a day … especially since he’s not seen us since October.

But hey. Bub will come when he’s ready, whoever’s there to welcome him, and other people’s lack of enthusiasm doesn’t have to dampen my own; I’m determined to keep a positive perspective, no matter what.

Besides, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, megghiu sula ca malaccumpagnata: better alone than in bad company.