TO say being pregnant can be an emotional rollercoaster in which your hormones are all over the place is an understatement to say the least. Crying, shouting, swearing, locking yourself in a room and refusing to come out - it all goes on. But anyway, that's enough about me.
This morning my lovely wife Mrs Rippers was sat on the bed looking a little bit miserable and shellshocked. It was about 15 minutes before she was due to leave for work and I wondered if she was feeling a bout of morning sickness, thankfully something which seems to be getting less and less these days.
As I looked at her I noticed the bottom lip quivering and the glasses starting to steam up, so I gave her a little hug. "Oh no, is that tears again?" I asked.
She nodded and was soon in full flow. "What on earth is the matter?" I prompted.
Eventually, when she was finally able to collect her thoughts she revealed: "I can't do the buttons up on my cardigan. I am too big."
Aah, poor dab. My heart was bleeding.
"Um, honey, you are now 21 weeks pregnant and are growing by the day," I pointed out. "It's not as if you have eaten your way through a Cadbury's Selection Box."
Update on Ridsdale... no news is good news I guess. Rentokil have been around and put some contact dust down on a newspaper. Apparently if he treads through it, then grooms himself, he won't feel too well. Hopefully that will be an end to his nocturnal activities because we are running out of kitchen mat.
I'm not convinced he has gone yet, though... we are talking about super rat. No amount of poison, traps and the like seem to have interrupted his jolly japes so far...
No scurrying though and no mat action for three days. There's a chance, a chance...