The Fabulous Mum's Handbook [antikvár]

Remember this? You're thirty-six weeks pregnant, wandering around in search of the perfect buggy. You try (with the luck of a hippopotamus in a china shop) to avoid crashing your expanding tummy into aU the other wandering bumps. You fantasise about the romance of it all, think about little Charlie (or Sam?) asleep on his sheepskin and snugghng angehe Scarlet tightly at your bosom in a denim Baby Björn papoose (loaned from your best friend) .Your main worry at this point is how to possibly cram aU fourteen hours' sleep (which are absolutely necessary for you to function as a blooming pregnant lady, of course) into your twenty-four-hour day, which Cadbury's chocolate selection to consume while flicking through Grazia magazine on a Saturday afternoon, and which sleeping routine (Ford, Leech or Hogg) wül fit you best.You may not be having riotous sex, but your partner regularly showers you with compliments about your 'radiance'. He cooks the occasional feast and knows where the Hoover lives. You book your favourite Itahan on a Saturday night, treat yourself to a glass of house white wine and stay up way past your lo p.m. watershed - let's face it, you know you can he in with the Sunday papers and doze away the best