Wednesday 24 June

6.33 am. My flat.

Opened my eyes and looked up into his face. There he was doing it again. Was he using thought vibes too?

"Good morning," Mark Darcy smiled down at me.

"It's morning? It was evening a few minutes ago." Wanted to cry from exhaustion. It had been a tough night.

"Poor darling. Our son is voracious." He bent down and kissed me.

"He's permanently attached to my breasts. Just like his father."

"That's my boy," Mark said proudly. "And he's thriving. You're a wonderful mother."

His words warmed me. "Here's the flip side of motherhood: my hair is a constant mess, my breasts are the size of Australia, I smell of off milk all the time, I look like Mr Blobby and my hormones keep staging a coup d'etat all over my body."

"And you have never looked lovelier." He nuzzled my neck. "Or sexier."

"I look like crap! You will never need Viagra, Mark."

He laughed and kissed me again.

Mmmm. Wish I wasn't so tired because we've got this shagging-as-quietly-as-possible-so-as-not-to-wake-the-baby malarkey down to a tee.

Three months of living together under our belt. Three months of learning something new about each other every day.

However, some things don't change. After all these years, Mark still folds his underwear before coming to bed. But that's Mark – and I love him just as he is.

Funnily enough, he's not so fussy about my knickers - seems to find flinging them anywhere after he pulls them off a huge turn-on.

"I'd better get ready for work," he said.

I touched his cheek. "Will you be OK? You didn't get much sleep either."

"Adrenaline will get me through the day." He reached for the hand on his face and brought it to his lips. "Don't forget we've got our first house viewing on Saturday at noon."

"How can I forget when you're constantly reminding me?"

"With good reason, Bridget." He pulled back the duvet and got out of bed. "I'm going to shower and look in on William. You rest."

Heart swelling, I watched him walk out of the room.

Mark and me and our baby.

Here.

Still marvel at my new normal. What's that phrase Jack says? Something about a dime . . . Life can turn on a dime. That's the one. Because it has.

Two years ago, I was single, Mark was married to thingamajig and we seemed to be over for good.

Now, we're raising our three-month-old son together and house-hunting for a new family home. What's more, if I know Mark, and I do, he's going to ask me to marry him. It's a matter of when, not if. He's probably debating how to make it special.

So tired. So little sleep. Going to rest my eyes for five minutes . . .

7.01 am

Gaaaaah! Is that the time? Mark will be leaving soon. Should really start planning our wedding while I wait for him to propose.

7.02 am

Mrs Darcy.

7.03 am

Mrs Jones-Darcy.

7.04 am

Wonder if I can get the guy from Starbucks in Balham to sing at our wedding? He's not bad.

7:05 am

As I'm going to be a non-Smug Married soon, must start looking for a gown and a church and book somewhere suitably stunning for the reception. Will look into marquee wedding venues today.

Want to ask Mark if, in addition to Tom, Jack can also be godfather – still feel a bit bad about how things turned out for him.

One minute, he's an almost-expectant father with a 97 percent Qwantify match to the mother-to-be. The next minute, it's all gone with life turning on a dime in Mark Darcy's favour.

Have to admit, self would've been devastated if Jack had turned out to be Will's father – not for me, but for Mark.

Despite his vow to love the baby as he loves me, I would have felt guilty every day, undeserving of his love even though I'd done nothing wrong.

Unless not checking expiry date of dolphin-friendly condoms is a crime worthy of eternal guilt.

But now that carelessness has given me Mark and Will, hurrah for not checking expiry date of dolphin-friendly condoms!

Am being even more environmentally friendly now because we shag au naturel, so to speak. No more condoms. Would love to give Will a little brother or sister, but there's no pressure. If it happens, it happens.

Our bouncing little miracle has worked miracles for me and Mark - the yo-yo years are over. We are finally where we always should have been. It all feels so right.

It's like Elizabeth Bennet said: the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end.

Yesterday, on a whim, read an old August entry from last year. It was as foreign to me as speaking Finnish. Was that really my life back then? Everything's so different now . . .

Monday 31 August

8.42 pm. My flat.

Oh shit. Fucketty, fucketty, shit. Bugger.

8.43 pm

Bugger.

8.44 pm

Shit. A day off work and I still didn't do what I need to do.

8.45 pm

Fuck it. Pringles needed. And garlic bread. Why do I fancy porridge too?

8.46 pm

Correction. The baby fancies porridge. Not me.

9 pm

Just eaten the Pringles and half a packet of custard creams while I wait for the garlic bread to cook.

9.15 pm

Yummy. Love the lovely garlic bread. Wish I could wash it down with some wine. Berating self for putting that last bottle of Chardonnay in the recycling bin – should've kept the bottle to sniff from deeply so it feels like I'm drinking vicariously.

10 pm

News At Ten on ITV. Feel like Julie Etchingham and the bongs are announcing the News At Bridget rather than latest Putin scandal and US Open results.

BONG! Bridget Jones, formerly the last barren husk in London, is pregnant.

BONG! Bridget Jones still hasn't told the two possible fathers.

BONG! Bridget Jones could call Mark Darcy and tell him the awful truth, but Bridget Jones doesn't want him to think her a drunken slag.

BONG! Bridget Jones doesn't want to hurt Mark Darcy again.

BONG! Bridget Jones is a big, fat, scaredy-cat.

Saturday's meet-up at King's Cross turned into an emergency summit. Lovely day with Shazzer and Tom despite the baby drama. Tom showed us pictures of his Colombian baby on his phone. We oohed and aahed over the gorgeous child and then I decided it was time to tell them everything.

Conversation went like this.

ME: I'm up the duff.

SHAZZER: You're fucking pregnant!

TOM: You're fucking someone?

SHAZZER: I was right!

SHAZZER and TOM: Who's the father?

ME: Fathers.

SHAZZER and TOM: Fathers?

ME: I shagged two men a week apart. The baby could be either of theirs because I used very old dolphin-friendly condoms.

TOM: Oh dear. If you were a chav with rotting teeth, you could go on Jeremy Kyle.

ME: Some would say it's more Jerry Springer.

SHAZZER: How far along are you?

ME: Around 12 weeks.

SHAZZER: Puppet guy?

ME: Possibly. Yes.

TOM: Who's puppet guy?

SHAZZER: Hot American with a big dick that Bridge shagged at a music festival. Has he called? Do you know who he is yet?

ME: Miranda from work found him. His name's Jack Quant – he's some kind of internet billionaire with an online dating site called Qwantify. Wait - are you googling him?

TOM: Too fucking right I am. Hot, American billionaire with a big dick? All the good ones are straight these days.

SHAZZER: And straight up Bridge's vagina.

ME: Oi! My vagina was on the verge of retirement until a few weeks ago.

TOM: Who's father number two?

ME: (nervous laugh) It's a funny story.

SHAZZER: (suspiciously) Who's father number two?

ME: (deep breath) You're not going to believe this, but at the christening of—

SHAZZER: You fucking shagged Mark Darcy!

TOM: When the Tom-cat's away, Bridget will play.

ME: (incredulous) How did you know I slept with Mark?

SHAZZER: He was alone, you were alone. He has a dick, you have a vagina. Bridget, this scenario doesn't require Mensa membership.

TOM: If I'd been here, I would have gone to William Hill and put a tenner on that shag. Easiest money I would've made.

SHAZZER: Only a tenner?

TOM: So. How was he? How was it?

ME: A. May. Zing, as Miranda would say. We couldn't get enough of each other. It was as if we were making up for lost time; five years apart went into that one night of shagging.

TOM: Bet you were walking even funnier the next day.

ME: Oi, you bitch! I do not walk funny. I have a distinctive walk.

SHAZZER: After all these years, I still can't reconcile the Mark Darcy who's got a poker up his arse with Mark Darcy the sexpert.

ME: Well, it's true. It's so good with him that I fake not having an orgasm.

SHAZZER: Why?

ME: So he'll carry on shagging me until he thinks I've come.

SHAZZER: Hmmmm. Must try that with Fergus.

TOM: Just as well Daniel Cleaver's dead because you probably would've shagged him too and then I definitely would've had to sign you up for Jeremy Kyle.

SHAZZER: So while we were dancing with the kids downstairs, you were upstairs making one with Mark.

ME: Possibly. Yes.

TOM: Molly's godparents skipped her christening party to have a party of their own. Honestly, you horny heterosexuals have no class!

SHAZZER: But Bridge, he's a married man.

ME: He's divorcing wife number two.

TOM: Two divorces and a broken engagement? He should quit women and go gay.

SHAZZER: You never said a word to me about Mark.

TOM: Or me.

SHAZZER: Did you tell Jude?

ME: No.

SHAZZER: You didn't tell any of us about bonking Mark?

ME: All three of you made me swear we were over for good because none of you believed me. Five years later, I shag him silly. So much for 'over for good'. I was trying to limit the number of times I'd have to confess and then hear 'I told you so'.

TOM: But I did tell you so! Sweetheart, you have Mark Darcy-itis; there's no known cure for your condition.

SHAZZER: And I bloody told you so too. I'm surprised you're not back together. You obviously still have feelings for each other.

ME: He wants to, but my head's saying no. How can we when nothing's changed? That's why I left him a note and scarpered.

SHAZZER: Oh dear. Poor Mark. So your head's saying no, what's your heart saying?

ME: Can't think about that now. The baby is my priority.

SHAZZER: But if it's Mark's, you'll have to think about it.

TOM: Poor ol' gherkin-up-the-bum Mark Darcy. But bloody phwoar! Look at this, Shaz. Check out those abs! I could climb him like Mount Everest.

SHAZZER: Wow! Abs, money and a big puppet too.

TOM: Tell us, Bridget, what was it that initially attracted you to the billionaire Jack Quant?

SHAZZER: Was it his face or body? Big dick?

ME: Fuuuuuuuuuuck. How is this my life?

7.43 am

My insatiable sex-god has returned to the bedroom suited and booted for work. Mmmm.

"You were out like a light so I decided not to wake you while I got dressed."

Mark walked over to me, cup of coffee in hand. He placed it on the bedside table and dropped a peck on my forehead. "He is the most beautiful boy in the world. I wish I could stay here with both of you."

"I know," I beamed at him. "Off you go. I have an important date to keep with Judge Judy, Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby in a couple of hours."

He pointed at the coffee. "Drink it while it's hot," he ordered. "I'll call."

"You always do."

"By the way, I know we've got Tom, but I've been thinking, maybe we should also ask Jack if he'd like to be William's godfather."

I smiled. "You really are very, very, very nice. It's a lovely thought."

"Besides, with a billionaire for a godfather, our son will be the most popular kid in school." Mark glanced at his watch, sighed and kissed me goodbye.

"Miss you already," I said.

"I miss you too," he replied and headed out the door.

2.55 pm

Looking at wedding gowns again while my beautiful son is asleep. Did this years ago. Even got as far as trying on dresses, but then everything went tits-up and . . . Well.

What a difference a family makes.

Ever since his paternity leave ended, Mark has been on a work-life balance mission. It's still not perfect, but it's a vast improvement. Real difference now is I know we are his priority, his world.

Previously, often felt a distant second - mistress to wifey-work.

Wow, this is a possibility! Ivory crepe, crepe waistband, full A-line skirt. Really liking the elegance of this type of Grace Kelly . . .

Ooooh, mobile ringing!

Oh, it's Mum.

Shit.

Bracing myself.

"Hello, Mum."

"Hello, darling. How's my adorable grandson?"

I smiled. "Adorable. He's doing really well. Wait until you see him, he's grown so much."

"You can't beat breast milk, I've always said it. I remember when I was breastfeeding you. Of course you were obstinate and didn't latch on well. You made my nipples ever so sore; they cracked and ended up looking like glaciers in Antarctica. I had to get some—"

Yuck.

"Mum," I interrupted. "Don't forget we're coming up a week on Saturday."

"Oh, the little darling! I can't wait to see him. Of course I knew he was Mark's and not that American's all along. I said as much to Una. I knew Mark's little British soldiers would have done their duty and won the egg-and-sperm race. Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!"

Oh holy Jesus! I had to stop her.

"Mum—"

"I told Daddy so too. I said Mark's sperm would have swum upstream and into your fallopian tube long before that American's managed an inch up your vagina. The Yanks are always tardy, Bridget; late to World War I, late to World War II and late to fertilizing your egg. Do you—"

Fucking hell.

"Mum," I interrupted again. "How's Dad?"

"He's fine. A bit upset about his gladioli so he's spending more time in the garden. Think he said something about yellowing leaves, but I had to rush to a parish council meeting so I didn't catch it all."

"I'll speak to him about the garden when we come up. Tell him I said 'hello' please."

"Of course I will. Bridget, Una and I were talking yesterday . . ."

Aha. Here it comes.

"When are you and Mark getting married?"

"Mum—"

"Margot Pennyfeather brings it up at every parish council meeting. 'How's your single-mother daughter Bridget, Mrs Jones?' she says. 'Still unwed? Still not married to Mark Darcy after all these years?' Awful woman putting on airs and graces about my family when her daughter works in a bingo hall."

"Mum—"

"She should also concentrate on getting her jams to set. That last batch was runnier than a weeping wound."

"That's yucky. Look, Mum—"

"Darling, Mark's the father of my grandson. Doesn't he want to make an honest woman of you?"

"Mum—"

"You're living together, aren't you? You've even bought new furniture together. That new sofa is much bigger than the old one. Plenty of room for you and Mark to play hide the sausage. I daresay that's why you bought it."

"Mum! I can't believe—"

"He's divorced now, isn't he?"

"Mum—"

"You love each other, don't you?"

"I have to go, Mum. Will's crying. See you soon!"

Urgh.

Mum is unbelievable. She got it right when she set me up with Mark Darcy all those years ago and she's spot on about my old sofa; it was way too small for shagging.

We discovered this in the most frustrating of ways.

The very next day, Mark purchased a Luca Glider nursing chair for me and the roomier sofa for us. He paid the furniture company an extra £140 for an express delivery, despite it not being part of their policy.

We only had to wait three days before that sofa was well and truly christened.

Wonder if the Darcys have said anything to Mark about marriage?

Our first trip back to Grafton Underwood since Will's birth is going to be fun with a capital fuuuuuuuuuuck.

3.35 pm

Gaaaaaah! Can hear mobile ringing and I'm in the loo. Am trying to rush my wee, but wee is not cooperating.

5 seconds later

Wee is still on strike and refusing to leave bladder. Phone is still ringing.

5 seconds later

No wee.

5 seconds later

Come the fuck on, wee!

5 seconds later

Oh shit! Why can't I wee? Why? Whyyyyyy? Debating whether to come off the toilet and answer the phone.

10 seconds later

Pulled up my knickers and that's when I felt the bloody wee coming out. Hastily dropped knickers again and sat back down on the toilet just in time. However, phone has stopped ringing.

Typical!

3.41 pm

Missed call from Mark. Will's still asleep – phone didn't wake him up. Hurrah! Can go back to researching fabulous wedding dresses and venues and concentrate on the . . .

Ooh, mobile ringing! It's Mark Darcy again.

"What took you so long to answer?" he irritably demanded. "I was worried something bad had happened. I was just about to drop everything and come home."

"I was in the loo!" I cried.

"Bridget, they're called mobile phones for a reason. These devices can be used over the widest of areas with no restriction whatsoever on movement. In other words, you can take it in the toilet with you, darling."

"I know that! I was just so desperate for a wee, I ran in there without it. Anyway, Mum rang . . ." Will conveniently forget to mention that our marital status is the talk of Grafton Underwood. "She can't wait to see us all Saturday week."

"Mother said the same thing. She's already ordered a hamper from Fortnum & Mason. What's our son doing?"

"Will's in the land of nod. I've been busy looking at Grace Kelly-inspired dresses for our . . . new house."

"Oh, I see. Actually I don't. You're looking for Grace Kelly-inspired dresses for our future home?"

Desperate to cover, I tried diversion.

"Mark, ignore me. I'm tired and talking gibberish. I should probably catch up on some sleep."

"Yes, you should. You've been doing far too much. Leave everything to me tonight – apart from his feeding, obviously. I'll bring in something for us to eat."

"Sounds wonderful."

"And darling?"

"Yes?"

"I'm counting down the seconds until I'm with you both again. A night on the sofa with my two worlds is my idea of heaven."

"You social butterfly, you."

"Play your cards right and I may even throw in some sex."