Sister Two has a theory about my blog. She reckons that the reason people like reading my stuff is because “we like to know someone is struggling along, having a harder time than us – it makes us realise that our life isn’t so bad after all.” I might well have misquoted her, as she said that way back in February, and she will no doubt rectify this statement, but that was pretty much what she meant. The downside to this is the thought that my life is/was that strugglesome. The upside is, I have a neat and tidy excuse for not writing regularly for the past few weeks (not counting the 4 months of pregnancy nausea where life was indeed so bad I thought that writing about it would send my readers running for the sick bucket too) … the excuse being: life is pretty good at the moment. Actually very good. The nausea has gone, the baby in my belly is healthy and, according to the last scan, has all its bits in the right places, the French dole office finally accepted my file and awarded me with a hefty backlog of payments thus allowing me to breath again and to buy some new knickers (it’s literally been years – let your imaginations run wild at the thought of my old knickers), we’ve had a number of great holidays this summer – luxery and laziness in Malaga followed by wild camping hither and thither in the Ardèche, and a flood of friends have been to visit us here at home. It’s been great weather, L’Homme has finished one bedroom and is about to finish a second (soon to be followed by a third), thus doubling our living space from 75 to 150 square metres in one swift summer, I’ve got various projects to keep me busy from now until 2013 and no sign of any stretch marks (yet). According to Sister Two’s theory you will by now be bored stiff and hating me for having such an easy time of late. Do not fear, this can’t last for long. For a start, the aches and pains and hemorrhoids and huge, heavy belly will start to slow me down, making me feel like a beached whale with constipation. Then comes the birth. Ow. Closely followed by sleepless nights, overflowing breastmilk and hair falling out, all of which is going to happen over the winter when L’Homme will be away on tour for big chunks of time, leaving me to juggle a newborn and a three year old who’s about to start school, whilst continuously stoking a woodburner and hauling logs up the stairs of a rainy evening. So there is much struggling to come, and thus many entries of woe and misery to keep you chortling and basking in your good fortune in comparison with mine. But for the moment things are good (as I write I am crossing all parts of my body physically crossable and touching wood in the form of a coffee table, a piano and a toy snake).