Monday 1st January

New Year’s Day

How do you measure a life in a year?

416 fish fingers cooked for Daisy, but mostly eaten by me.

244 loads of washing.

One stone lost, one gained.

Seven bottles of Calpol.

364 nights of disturbed sleep.

Said ‘no’ approx. 5000 times, told no 50,000 times.

Two calls to 999 (Daisy glo-stick chewing incident and freaky green poo two days after).

One unexpected pregnancy.

One marriage proposal.

Told Daisy ‘I love you’ more times than I can possibly count.

This year? I would like fewer:

Custody battles with Nick, Daisy’s feckless, irresponsible father.

Relationship uncertainties with Alex.

Stressful house renovations.

Mortgage, credit card and utility bills.

Finances are an uncomfortable subject right now.

I’d planned to get a proper grown-up job in London this year, but commuting will be tough now I’m pregnant.

I know employers aren’t supposed to discriminate, but pregnancy mimics hangover symptoms – tiredness, sickness, bad memory, etc. – and lasts all day, every day. There’s no afternoon respite after a restorative Big Mac.

Frankly, I wouldn’t hire me.

Alex has offered to pay my bills during the pregnancy, but told him ‘no thank you’.

Maybe I’m being an idiot, but it would just be too weird. Yes – we’re having a baby together, but our relationship is extremely uncertain.

Have asked Alex to give me thinking space, re: his marriage proposal. I think he’s a bit offended. Am imagining him drinking an expensive Southbank latte, watching the Thames, black hair romantically tousled, dark eyes flashing.

‘Another coffee, Mr Dalton?’

‘No thank you. I’m too furious.’