LIKE most people, I'm well and truly sick of winter.

But it's not the temperature, the dark nights or even the increased heating bills which have left me cold - but the fact I can't participate in any of the upsides of the season to make it worthwhile.

It turns out winter is not a joyous time for the heavily pregnant.

"Yay for the snow!" shrieked my entire Facebook friends list last week.

"Who's up for sledging??"

I started to reply that I was already pulling on my hat and scarf, when the baby (or is she in fact a bowling ball?) kicked me very sharply to remind me to "take it easy".

"Yeah I guess she's right," said Smithy, as he grabbed his gloves on the way out of the front door. "I suppose you had better sit this one out..."

Snowmen were built without me and all the perfect, untouched patches of the white stuff were duly marked with footprints that were not mine.

And more importantly, the après-ski was enjoyed by everybody but me, as the Baileys and mulled wine had to be substituted for hot blackcurrant squash.

But these, I've discovered, are the trials and tribulations of being pregnant - and planetary.

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to develop my own gravitational pull, and soon pets and small children will be in danger from the magnetic field.

I'll find cats and small dogs suddenly zooming towards my beach-ball-middle as I simply try and waddle to the corner shop and back.

And that's before I've even addressed my own fears - such as "is that person going to walk too close and trip me up?" or "is that an innocent patch of pavement or is it black ice masquerading as an innocent patch of pavement?"

So, like I say, winter can well and truly move along now, taking its "fun" with it.

And if the baby would like to make an appearance (returning my body to its rightful owner) that would also be very much appreciated...