Zoe Cummins

I win an award for my fungi podcast.

I get wildly drunk on champagne at the ceremony and giddily dance all night.

I meet the middle-aged but attractive presenter in a lift on the way to the rooms and inexplicably hold his hand and fall from grace as my body and lips answer his demands.

We never say it out loud.

Time.

Time is the essence of the contract.

A year of time.

And I am pregnant.

And we are ecstatic.

I start eating folic acid by the scoopful.

I research all about babies.

I'm asked can I do a podcast on the stages of pregnancy, from first scan to the first cry.

I go through all the classic episodes of morning sickness, measuring the baby by comparison to foodstuffs, peanut, avocado, butternut squash, playing classical music to the bump.

I get asked to do all sorts of yoga workshops as the podcast is becoming very popular.

At 29 weeks, another scan.

I'm recording at it.

So now my audio edit allows me to hear back how I reacted to the news being sounded out.

Possible copakephaly.

I edit out that bit and put in a voiceover instead to explain what happened.

My editor doesn't want to put people off listening.