Anastasia lives in London with her husband, Nick. They’ve been married for three years and are expecting their first baby

Back to school

It’s hard to believe I’ll be a mother in less than two months. Nick will be a father. We will be a family. Wow. Starting our NCT classes has made this all seem real for both of us. Last night we sat in the crèche room of a local community centre (you should have seen eight pregnant women trying to squeeze into child-sized chairs) and were forced into reality by Sarah, our NCT teacher. She has a calm manner and is very matter-of-fact when she talks about things like mucus plugs. Nick was actually very interested (or he’s a great actor). If nothing else, it’s refreshing to be in a room with other people in the same predicament. Our collective ignorance gives us a sort of bonding power and I already feel I could discuss anything in front of the rest of the group. Over the next four weeks, I’m sure we’ll get down to the nitty-gritty: bloody mucus and the works.

For Nick and me, it’s not enough that we’re having a baby. We’re also moving house. And continents. Yes, we’re going to the States where Nick has a new job. Everyone thinks it’s my doing because I am American, but the truth is, part of me would rather stay here. I’ve been in London for six very formative years. I fell in love here, got married, pregnant, and established an entire new life and career, complete with incredibly close friends, including much of Nick’s family. Wonderful though it will be to live nearer to my own family, it’ll be very difficult to leave this place. Yes, I hate the pollution, the public transport and the incessant crap weather. But I will miss it all.

So off we go, as soon as the baby is born and once we feel comfortable about crossing the Atlantic with the little screamer. I’m not keen to put a newborn on an aeroplane, filled with germs and the threat of deep vein thrombosis. (Can babies get economy class syndrome?) My mother suggested we avoid flying and cruise over to America on the Queen Elizabeth II. Romantic, but I’m not sure my husband’s company would cough up the cash for it. Meanwhile, in the next few weeks, we’re leaving our lovely house, moving into a rented flat and packing up everything we own. Our furniture is the only part of the family that will be taking a ‘cruise’ to America – in a 40ft crate.

Suddenly, I am huge. Thankfully not my face and ankles – yet – but my belly is being stretched like a trampoline. I’m starting to fill out into my maternity clothes. They used to sag around my knees a few weeks ago. I don’t really mind being massive, but it still startles me to catch a glimpse of myself every once in a while, with this oddly shaped profile. I can remember being mildly revolted by the naked image of a very pregnant Demi Moore in Vanity Fair all those years ago and now I feel like I was a traitor for thinking she looked anything but beautiful. I guess it’s all about proportion – and a pregnant belly is anything but in proportion with the rest of the body. Nick is an angel about the size issue. He could not be any more complimentary and loving. Even if he is lying through his teeth and is secretly revolted by my new shape, I will love him forever for keeping it to himself.

See Josa Young's pregnancy diary for weeks 30-32.