Battle of the bumps

After an extended leave of absence, I’m back by popular demand...well, by a handful of kind requests anyway. Where have I been? Right here on the farm, as ever, and since losing my biggest copywriting client (long story) and finally falling pregnant (even longer story) – both coincidentally back in March – I seem to be turning into a fairly good farmer’s wife as it happens.

A lack of work coupled with the increasingly undeniable fact that there will be a baby here in two months’ time has seen the farmhouse undergo a series of much needed improvements and me go into domestic overdrive. Our newly created larder is now stocked with jams and jellies – blueberry, redcurrant, raspberry and strawberry (thank you Silver Spoon Jam Sugar with added pectin) – and I’m in the process of filling the deep freeze with meals for when the baby arrives.

Inspired by last week’s opening episode of the River Cottage Every Day series and Hugh’s stew club, today I decided to make a batch of hearty beef stew.

Down at my local butcher, I selected some root veggies and onions while the nice lady-butcher diced me a shed load of chuck steak. As we waited for my card to process payment, she asked me what I was doing for the rest of the day. I told her of my freeze-ahead plan before the imminent arrival of my baby, at which she looked quite taken aback. ‘I had no idea,’ she said, staring openly at my belly in disbelief. ‘You’re very neat,’ she added politely.

This, I have to tell you, is pretty much the standard reaction of strangers and people I haven’t seen for a while on discovering I’m 30+ weeks pregnant. I know, I know, I should be grateful that I am so ‘neat’ but at the same time I can’t help but wonder what they must have thought before finding out my news. That I’ve let myself go? That I'm a bit portly? That I’m taking my role as farmer’s wife altogether too seriously?!

I’m just disappointed that after waiting so long for the stork to visit our nest that it’s not immediately apparent to all that I’m with-child rather than with-an-awful-lot-of-extra-pounds. ‘Who cares?’ the Farmer reassures, ‘we know you’re pregnant. Just think of all those people who have big bellies with no baby inside. Look at your Dad!’

True, I console myself thinking of my foodie Father. Nowadays when we hug I don’t get anywhere near him, his bump being as big as mine. Instead we kind of bang bellies sumo wrestler style.

‘This is very expensive,’ he says proudly of his paunch, referring to the many Michelin-starred meals that have gone into it. ‘It’s cost me a lot of money,’ he adds, slapping his stomach forcefully, something I’ve had to discourage him from doing to my own.

Ironically, by all accounts (friends, family, books, the media) my bump – albeit temporary – is about to cost us a lot of money too.