Moody Blues

I was warned that all the extra oestrogen pumping around me would make my mood swing violently from Mother Teresa to Count Dracular and back again.

Pregnancy actually turned me from being a hard-nosed, tough-talking, razor-tongued vixen into a soppy, sentimental old fool, who'd start sobbing during King Kong or episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond. Obscure children's books, pictures of fetuses and even Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales would reduce me to tears, as would Biajee's comments that I really need to start pumping bubbles out of my mouth if I keep thinking I'm a whale.

At least, because he felt guilty drinking when I couldn't, those Coors in the fridge would stay untouched for months on end. And we've given away all our wine collections to friends when attending parties. In our case this led to a rather useful windfall at the end of every month, and a shocking realisation about how much money we'd blown over the months...