So, once again, I’ve been pretty quiet of late. Life’s just been so darned busy: work has been full on, social engagements have been coming thick and fast … and of course there’s been the preparation for Bub’s imminent arrival.

With just seven days left until his scheduled appearance, absolutely nothing seems to have slowed down. There have been parties galore – including a quick dash down south for grandma’s 90th – a hectic schedule of coffees with friends, and work is one frantic round of tasks to be finished before I depart. And who knows when that might be?

In fact, I may have more time than I think, since my contract runs til 3 days after my due date. If Bub’s Latino side comes out, it’s entirely reasonable to suppose that he may arrive fashionably late and we can collect the juicy bonus that depends on the contract’s completion. Anyway, until he decides to put in an appearance, life continues pretty much as normal.

One notable exception to my usual routine, however, is the absence of the gym. At 38 weeks pregnant, I finally had to hang up my towel. Bub was just getting too heavy for Body Combat, and although I was planning to pursue more gentle activities for another week or so, a fall from my bike (thanks to an exceptionally clumsy cyclist) exacerbated the ache in my already stretched ribs and called a halt to all exuberant activity. And then my membership ran out.

I had thought I might go swimming for the remainder of my pregnancy, but of course I was forgetting exactly how much my shape has changed: the neat bump of yore has blossomed into a veritable barrel and the gigantaboobs of pregnancy laugh in the face of even my most capacious bikini. So that’s that.

To be honest, though, it’s probably for the best: my little pud is so active that half the time, my belly undulates and bulges in a way that’s potentially alarming to fellow swimmers unacquainted with the little man’s charms.

So, apart from a lack of energetic exercise, things are ticking along as usual. Well, as usual, apart from the fact that I’ve seen the Baby Daddy not once but twice in the last month. Can you believe it?

Now that Bub is almost with us, it’s apparently the right time for us to communicate, so we’re dutifully meeting up to make polite conversation and – for my part at least – wondering how on earth this is all going to play out once the little fella makes his grand entrance. After all, we seem to have scant little in common except a past attraction to one another and a son that’s about to be born any day now.

Still, my days of worrying about the Baby Daddy’s involvement are well and truly over. I’m not really worried what the future holds, as long as Bub is healthy and happy.

And anyway, I’ve had other things on my mind: incredibly, there’s been a modicum of romantic activity to grace the endless grey days of Cupid’s absence.

Big surprise, huh?

Of course, I’m an extremely round pregnant lady, so what counts for me as ‘romantic activity’ may barely register on other folks’ amorous scale, but suffice to say I’ve been enjoying the distinguished attentions of a very charming and attractive gentleman and it’s been a pleasure and a joy.

Naturally, as with all good things, it’s not set to last: he’s due to leave town any day now, and my little sproglet is about to be born, so opportunities for coffee and sweet conversation are going to be rather limited. But that’s not the point.

The point is that He Who Shall Remain Nameless has lifted my spirits and given me faith that there are good guys out there somewhere. And some of them might even be interested in me.

Logically, I’m under no illusions: I’m going to have my hands full for the foreseeable future, with nappies, night feeds, and t-shirts decorated with drool. Amorous activities will surely be far, far from my mind.

But just the thought that someone liked me enough to devote their attention to me – even in my rotund state – has made me a very happy mummy-to-be. And what could be nicer than that?