Other than the emergence of a snubby nose or chubby fist from her nether regions, ET has experienced one of the last big signs that the time is nigh.
No more alarms, no more waddling across snowy car parks, and no more trying to work out how to reach a keyboard that is distanced from your wee fingertips by the length of the gut projecting out of you.
Until sometime in July at least.
She’s now a lady of leisure, and can focus on a little baking, some pottering, but mostly embroidery. Or watching repeats of Law & Order, whichever suits.
The greatest little recognised advantage of maternity leave is of course, post. No longer will I have to spend evenings trawling up and down the street trying with a postman’s illegible note trying to find the parcel that he dropped off with some random neighbour, our post shall be delivered.
The downside of this is a tad more practical. Up to now she has been drinking tea, using toilet paper, and consuming electricity all at the expense of her employer, but now her Cleopatrian lounging will thrust us into financial disaster with soaring toilet paper bills and tea-bag shortages.
Maternity leave, another one of life’s ill thought through concepts.