Valentine’s Day used to mean wine, maybe some sushi and definitely a romantic setting with my husband. But now, with a one year old in the house and a baby on the way, the most romantic thing for me would be a supper of toasted cheese and an early night with my bulging belly resting on the moon-shaped pregnancy pillow that has become my new best friend. It’s like in that J-Lo film, The Back-up Plan, where she is pregnant with twins and finds solace in the curve of her pregnancy pillow. J-Lo’s poor partner struggles to deal with the harsh realisation that he has been ousted from the conjugal bed by, well, a piece of foam. I laughed when I saw this, thinking it would never happen to me. But, here I am, 29-weeks pregnant and in a serious relationship with my own pregnancy pillow. Craig has been gracious about my dalliance, but I think that, just for this Valentine’s Day, I may need to part ways with my new friend. The day is usually a special occasion for us, as Craig is a true romantic. We even got engaged on Valentine’s Day during a powerful thunderstorm in the Drakensberg. I remember once being treated to a moonlight picnic on Lion’s Head. We hiked up after work and watched the sun set as we clinked our wine glasses and nibbled on soft cheese and delicious bread. Well, times have changed somewhat – the view from our couch may not be as breathtaking, or the toasted sarmie as delectable as those gourmet snacks, but Craig is still the only person I would want to spend this, and every other, day with. And maybe also my beloved pillow…