Worry-Warting

The SPD continues to niggle but although it is definately worse by the end of the working week, doing not very much (for which read nothing) at the weekend has certainly proven to recharge my creaking pelvis so far. Do feel very bad that husband isn't really getting me at my best. Have promised to make it up to him this long weekend (unless of course the Chancellor has bank hols and privilege days in his cutting sights too).

On a lighter note am both excited and slightly concerned to learn that the baby can now (at 21 weeks) hear what's going on around us (me and them, natch). I love my colleagues but some are more than slightly mad - what if office banter becomes the baby's barometer for normal conversation? The office is where I spend the majority of my week and topics of discussion range from the ridiculous to the sublime spanning murmer bears, cabinet agendas, button moon and the budget. Such chit chat is often delivered in a Russian, Irish or Roger Federer accent, with the occassional lunge thrown in for good measure*. Also, as a Civil Servant does my agreeing to Official Secrets Act implicitly mean baby agrees too? Fingers crossed they don't have the early capacity for speech that Stewie does (Family Guy evil and devious baby). Am I already turning into a worry wart mother? Argh!

*to stress: I am not, nor (now) with spd, will I ever a lunger be.