Josa Young has 2 children aged eleven and eight. She’s now 41 and expecting another baby. Follow her progress in week 24 of her pregnancy diary

I lie on my bed rubbing neroli-scented massage oil onto my burgeoning belly. It is futile for me to try and avoid stretch marks. After two large babies, my belly from the pubic bone upward, looks like the sunlit Nile Delta from the air, seamed with silvery wandering tracks. I wonder whether it has stretched enough and won’t stretch any more for this baby. The telltale purple marks of new stretching have not yet appeared. You can usually tell if you will stretch, by looking at your mother. After five babies, my mother’s slender belly had the texture of ivory-coloured crepe paper. Never believe the spurious promises on lotions – they do feel nice though.

All lies quiet for a minute or two, and then the oiled mound begins to billow like a shaken sheet or a bag of ferrets. Bump. Bump. He still has plenty of room to move around and makes the most of it. It is strange to know that, under your skin there is another person. Small, but there, and getting stronger every day. ‘I’ve got you under my skin. I’ve got you in the very heart of me…’ I hum to myself.

The midwife came again – the baby is lying with his head under my left-hand ribs. I hope he turns head down fairly soon, but there is plenty of time. There are mutterings about inducing me at 38 weeks – again due to my age: apparently, placentas can pack up at the end. Just when I was beginning to feel less anxious, my anxiety levels rose to new heights and I spent a whole evening crying again. The ‘cascade of interventions’ that can be set off by induction, haunts me. A good long sleep made me feel better.

But mostly it’s contentment

At the moment I am very happy to be home alone. I am naturally rather hyperactive and restless, and find the discipline of freelance work a big challenge – which of course I force myself to meet.

Now I am not restless at all. Working at the computer is simply a pleasure. My days are made up of walking, trying to eat (appetite still elusive), working and sleeping luxuriously every afternoon. My puritan work ethic in normal life would deny me this luxury – but I feel I am living in a parallel place, a temporary place, where normal rules do not apply.

I am having the most alarming dreams. Last night I dreamt that someone had planted a bomb in our bathroom (which is awaiting the delayed attentions of the plumber) and, when Thoby went to bury it in the garden, a baby elephant covered in wet red mud burst through the fence.

Classic anxiety dream – bomb equals mess the bathroom is in. Baby elephant equals baby, and my anxiety about how I am going to cope. Other dreams are less surreal and more frightening – illness and death crop up frequently. I sleep badly, and have taken to propping the bump on a pillow and putting another between my knees. I don’t feel quite so queasy in the mornings though, and hope to have given up the uncharacteristic sugar in my tea.

See Anastasia's diary for weeks 24-26.