This is something I’ve been itching to write for a while now. Well, actually, I have been writing it. But it’s only a few folks with sharp eyes who twigged that something was up.

It started with poppy seeds, swaddled in a loaf. They were no bigger than a full stop; small and dark, but full of promise.

A week later it was sesame seeds. Muddled with salt and sweet in some crisps. At that stage, I had a lot of affection for things that went crunch.

Not long after it was lentils, in a soothing soup that found yet another use for lemon ginger tea. Oh gosh, there was a lot of herbal tea being bought and sipped in a desperate attempt to quell the sour tide that would rise inside.

Then we graduated to blueberries, in pancakes, and a ride on a big jet plane or two to New York. Thank heavens for anti nausea wrist bands.

And then, just in time for New Years it was time for raspberries, in elderflower cocktails, which worked just as well for those who were taking a break from the booze.

Before long we were contemplating small  grapes, roasted and puckered, paired with baby chickens and pine nuts.

And most recently it was time for dates, nestled into a tart.

You see, over the past five weeks of travelling and the three before that, we’ve been entertaining a stowaway.

And this morning we got a chance to say hello to the hungriest one of all.

While goo was pushed over my already-convex stomach we saw him dance and spin (while we’re still in the dark as to whether it’s shaded pink or blue, at this stage my dreams are definitely tinted turquoise).  It seems all the vital bits are there and accounted for. He made it through nine long flights, eight cities, both sleet and sweltering heat, altitude, a minor case of Peru-belly and a few too many hours sitting without food on the tarmac amidst Heathrow’s snow.  Here’s hoping he’s a keeper.

The heart beat was one thing, but when I saw him start to paddling his legs up and down, twirling from side to side, I may have felt something damp slide down onto my cheek.

This past week he’s been about the size of a brussel sprout (though possibly closer to a plum. He seems rather tall for his suspected age- possibly something he gets from his Dad). And yes, this means you can expect a brussel sprout sized recipe to come in the next few days.

So here it officially launches, a third of the way in; 40 weeks of feasting. I’m hoping the fun has only just begun; from here we move on to stone fruits, papayas, pineapples, and heaven help us, eventually melons.

And now for some of the best news; for the first time in two months, I’m finally starting to feel enthused by food again.