THE BODY BEAUTIFUL

For Sale, one body 40 (000) miles, converted from smoking to non-smoking engine four years ago. Bodywork needs attention, due to three recent heavy loads. Originally turbo engine, but slower performance in recent years, especially first thing in the morning. Original accessories still available, but in need of refurbishment. One careless owner. All offers welcome, especially part exchange with younger model.

I’m standing looking in the mirror with my wardrobe doors Before me lies a tale of change that I could barely imagine just five short years ago. In my wardrobe I have clothes that range from a size 8 to a size 16. In front of me, a set of curves presents itself that would do any Hall of Mirrors proud. When I met Steve for the first time I was wearing a mini skirt and a crop top; dubious taste aside, the only type of crop top I get to wear these days is one when my big fat tummy pushes my t-shirt up under my arms. In those days I would stuff myself into leather trousers, tight jeans, micro dresses and dance the nights away. Nowadays I’m changed into my pyjamas by 8 and count an evening with the Sopranos as a big night out.

Of course I am aware that many of you have returned to your former shape, either through good genes or great effort and for that I commend you. HOWEVER, my stomach seems to have gone in and out more often than a cuckoo in a Swiss clock, hence my unenviable range of clothes sizes, and I wonder if I will ever squeeze back into my old clothes again. After Billie, I went to Weight Watchers and lost two and a half stone, which I celebrated by eating enough chocolate and cake to put it all back on again. I sometimes wonder whether I got pregnant just to cover up the fact that I was fat. In a way being this size (now 23 weeks pregnant) suits my skin better, as at least it is pulled taut at the moment, and though plenty of my bits stick out, not much is sagging. But as any of you who’ve been through this know, all of this will change once the baby is born.

Apart from the weight gain, there are other changes in pregnancy that can be quite alarming. I’ve had carpal tunnel syndrome (where your fingers seem to function less well) and I went around like some gnarled old witch, constantly dropping things. My toes have swollen, so that 'this little piggy' looks like he’s gone to market, stuffed himself stupid on McDonald’s and drunk fifteen pints in the Pig and Whistle. I've also had dermatitis that sent me half crazy with the itching, heartburn that put up the shares in Gaviscon by several points and wind that radically changed the local weather systems.

Pregnancy also does this weird Dorian Gray number on you, where you are the young, beautiful picture during pregnancy, then afterwards – wham! Out comes the old horror painting. So, make the most of your lustrous hair, because the day after the baby’s born it all falls out. My hairdresser assures me that all you are losing is the hair you retained during the previous nine months but it still comes as a horrid shock the first time you wash your hair. And as for that peaches and cream complexion, a ghost-like pallor and dark circles under your eyes soon replaces it. You find that your boobs swell to the size of melons, then, when you stop breastfeeding, lie about on your stomach like a couple of stoned teenagers.

Still at least we have some comforting role models in the media at the moment. There’s Posh struggling with her weight days after her C-section, and Miss Zeta-Jones looking, well let’s face it, unkempt after having dear Dylan. So no pressure there then. And it’s great that it took them all ages to get back in shape again; as Cindy Crawford points out, 20 minutes of working out is better than a 20 minute nap (assuming presumably you’ve slept the night before). And while we’re on the subject of C-sections, isn’t that little pouch that you’re left with absolutely darling? Prada would be pressed to produce something as cute as that. So I’ve decided to revel in the next 16 weeks, because I know that I prefer being a ripe peach to a mouldy old pear any day.

Quote of the Week:

Olly (wielding sword at me and Steve): "I will kill you and I will be powerful."

Billie: "...and rich."

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 4) and daughter Billie (aged 3) in Hertfordshire.

Read Juliet's previous diary