The story so far: Anastasia and her husband, Nick, have been married for 3 years and are expecting their first baby. Anastasia is a freelance writer and lives in London. Now read on…

Thank goodness for drawstring waist trousers. I have about six pairs and I live in them. The strings are getting shorter and shorter and more difficult to tie, with each passing day. It’s so strange to wake up every morning in this oddly shaped body. Don’t get me wrong, I love it (for the most part), and am not obsessing about being ‘fat’, but it’s still bizarre when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wonder whose body your head is sitting on.

And those boobs – Pamela Anderson, watch out! Just for fun, I decided to take some measurements for my journal, to record how much my body is changing. Bad, bad idea. My bust, which incidentally used to measure 35 inches, now comes in at a solid 40 inches. I suddenly feel less like Pamela Anderson and more like the Queen Mum. Depression makes way for the realisation that I absolutely have to break down and get some new bras. The handy bra-strap extenders I bought sort of kept the old ones strapped on. But clearly, these new breasts demanded some special attention and support. And for goodness’ sake, I told myself, use that special Mother’s Oil every single day. Five inches could mean stretch-mark-city. Shudder.

Been looking forward to this milestone for weeks. First off, week 20 marks that point where I can proudly say, ‘I’m halfway there’ It’s quite incredible to think that in 20 more weeks, there’ll be another person in our little family. Secondly, week 20 means we experience scan number two, the one where the foetus looks more like a baby and less like the surface of Mars.

There’s so much comedy in pregnancy, but I’ve found it’s difficult to recognise the humour, until long after the episode. A week 20 scan requires a full bladder. ‘Drink several glasses of water the hour before the appointment and you will be fine,’ said the technician on the telephone. Since I had the first appointment in the morning, I started guzzling water and orange juice the moment I awoke. By the time Nick and I made our way to the hospital, my bladder felt as heavy as a piano. Grateful to finally reach the door marked Ante-Natal Ultrasound, I felt a huge wave of relief. That is, until I realised the door was locked and there was no one from the department to be found. I paced back and forth, as Nick read a Hello magazine from 1997 and chuckled under his breath at my gyrations. It was now 8:40am, ten minutes after my designated appointment time, and still no sign of life in the Ultrasound department. My bladder began to feel like it took up all of the space in my body, including my head, and my pacing had slowed to a painful march. The clock ticked by.

Another couple came round the corner and joined us in the waiting area. I imagined the scenario: she would say her appointment was 8:30 as well, the hospital had double-booked us, and we would have to arm wrestle for the first appointment. I looked at her and thought, ‘I dare you to try to get in ahead of me, scrawny girl.’ I’d knock her over if I had to.

Finally, the department came alive with receptionists and technicians, all of them chatting away, oblivious to the torture they were putting me through. It turned out, my competition for the first slot was here for only her 12 week scan (beginner), looked comfortable and relaxed, holding her partner’s hand. No pacing, no squirming. I attacked the receptionist with my name and hospital number, the minute she neared a desk, and she calmly told me to wait in the waiting area. Hardly had I started thinking I’d have to just pee and then start all over again than the technician asked us to come into the scanning room (Ha! We’re first.)

A blob of jelly on the belly and a few switches turned to ‘on’, and our baby popped up on the screen, looking less like a baby and more like the surface of Mars than I had anticipated, but gorgeous nonetheless. Nick asked twenty questions, while I just stared in wonder at the wiggling blob (why do they put the screen behind you? It’s murder on the neck). I forgot all about my bladder until the technician asked me to move around to let him get a better picture of the baby’s heart. I wondered if anyone had ever peed on the table before.

Luckily, I made it through. ‘Everything’s perfectly normal,’ remarked the technician. ‘The next time you see your baby, it’ll be in your arms.’

See Josa's pregnancy diary for week 20.