This time last year I was pregnant with Erin. So it feels rather surreal to be pregnant again, facing yet another silly season without a celebratory glass of bubbly. Our second baby is due at the end of April. I just knew from the start, when I first blanched at the smell of mushrooms, perfume and detergent, that I was carrying a boy. With Erin I craved cupcakes, chocolate and all things nice. With this one, it has just been orange juice, the occasional salty snack and biltong. But, what has also been more acute this time is the porridge brain. Sceptics doubt that it even exists; this period in a woman’s life when common sense and logic go AWOL. I realised my brain was morphing into sludge when I started finding the sugar bowl in the fridge and when I put Erin’s nappy on backwards. These mishaps were all fine; even comical. But finding myself perched on a fire hydrant last week, with the back wheels of my car suspended off the ground, was no laughing matter. Well, not for me anyway. The seven tow-truck drivers who raced to my rescue, however, were rather amused. Seems I had been daydreaming while parking, causing me to drive into a ditch. I initially tried to ease the car out of the dip, but I was too firmly wedged on the hydrant. Red-faced, I had to explain to the person I was interviewing that I had managed to obstruct his driveway with my automobile’s aerobatics. Thankfully, he has three children, and is no stranger to the porridge-brain phenomenon. But the burly tow-truck drivers, who slapped me with a hefty bill for removing my vehicle, were not convinced. In fact, I’m sure I heard them muttering under their breaths, “typical woman driver” as I eventually drove off.