My bump is unreasonably big. So, for that matter, is my face. My arms are like sides of ham, and the cellulite on my legs starts at my knees. My knees!

The "rosy glow" on my face is a constant sheen of sweat caused by the exertion required to do things like: sit up; stand up; sit down; bend over. I am being kicked constantly, my pelvis feels like it is full of rocks, I am sleeping an average of three hours a night due to, variously, intense heartburn, six thousand trips to the loo, and a vague feeling of worry that crops up only at around 2.30am.

My hair looks, for some reason, like a brillo pad. I have spots on my forehead for the first time in about a decade. I have, at last count, three chins, and an unfeasibly wide nose.

I remember telling a friend in my first trimester, when I was grey-faced, fatigued, nauseous and grumpy, that I should go around high schools and talk to teen girls as a living breathing example of Why You Do Not Want To Get Pregnant Now. One look at me, I thought, and they would recoil at the idea of pregnancy for another 15 years at least, until the trauma of the memory faded away.

I stand by that idea: but I think, too, that First Trimester Me could be joined by Third Trimester Me. (Second Trimester Me would not be invited: she was sickening. Plump, yes, but also filled with energy and a positive attitude that would make First and Third want to punch her out.) Third Trimester Me is scary. Third Trimester me is unimpressed.

Third Trimester Me (TTM), particularly from 35 weeks onwards, is prone to hot flushes in the supermarket, causing her to lurch to the freezer aisle and stick her head in a door to cool down, prompting concerned looks from men who fear that my waters are about to break all over the frozen lasagnes. TTM then almost faints in the checkout queue due to an inability to stand still for very long, startling the old lady in front of her by clutching unexpectedly at her trolley.

TTM is unable to get up without an unseemly "Euuuurgh!" grunting sound previously only heard among late-middle-aged, obese men with back problems. She has never felt less sexy, more uncomfortable.

The only lights are, of course, my baby, and the unfailing and stoic support and patience of my partner, which makes me fall in love with him more every day, as he remains good humoured, tolerant, understanding, and always armed with a cup of tea and an offer of a back or tummy rub.

As well as him, the mere thought of my baby can bring me to happy tears, and make me forget the appalling state of my body, hair and mind.

It is a bit unfashionable to admit to not enjoying pregnancy. But I can still say I love this child in me with every fibre of my being, and would do it again and again for the rewards I already feel in me, and the rewards I know are coming: but it doesn't mean I have to like it. So, Earth Mothers, who glow throughout their pregnancy and remain serene, calm, and with a normal-sized nose: congratulations. I am genuinely happy for you. But please don't judge those like me: the frizzy, the fat, the creaking and the swollen-footed. For we are just the same as you, beneath it all: great big soppy bundles of love, rubbing our bellies with a dreamy look in our (piggy) eyes.

Sharon Thompson is a freelance writer and proofreader after working as a journalist for eight years. She works with clients to prepare press releases, marketing copy, articles, opinion pieces, blogs, newsletter copy, and more - whatever words her clients require. She also has an eagle eye and can proofread finished documents. She has a passion for words and is a voracious reader. S.T. Writing Services charges reasonable, competitive rates and offers an extremely fast turnaround time. Contact Sharon by email on This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it , call 0402 809 099 or visit www.stwritingservices.net.au.