I am a horsey mum - I don't mean that I look like one (well I don't think so) rather that I juggle an equine and a baby. My husband would like to comment at this point that there are similarities between a Shetland pony's and my own legs, but I may find time to clip the horse out but never time enough to shave mine.

Our horse is called Davey. He is my engagement ring and he came to the wedding - to the photos afterwards anyway - the Register Office wouldn't let him in and for the preceding four years he had been an only child. Marks secretary got very concerned when I called her to say that Davey had been very good for his injections but that I had to tie him up from both sides of his head to stop him pulling his stitches out! Mark did tell her some time later that it wasn't a child but I'm sure Social Services would have had a field day with that one.

I rode, or increasingly balanced precariously and wobbled until I was about 71/2 months gone. It was the combination of a chest that was in an independent orbit around me, the bump resting on Daveys withers and kicking him, and Davey looking back over his shoulder at me to see who was prodding him in the back that decided it.

That and getting off. Getting on was ok, but getting back down again was difficult. Impossible in fact. You can't throw yourself forward and swing a leg gaily skywards clear of the horses back when you can't lean forwards. You can't chuck your leg forward over the horses neck and slide off cowboy style when to do that would ensure the still revolving bosom would act as a counterweight and yank you off backwards.

This meant the only way of getting off, short of hacking off the horse at the knee was to persuade him to walk over to the wall by the muckheap and try to get off like climbing a ladder and hope that it was mainly straw if you overbalanced. Moist and distasteful but at least soft.

The yard where we keep Davey is more than used to babies. At one point there were four of us waddling round pregnant, including the yard manager. That was just the humans, there were a couple of horses and dogs bulging at the seams as well. So a few words to the wise:- don't ride while you still have stitches in, the pain is worse than the first cut ever was. Do make sure you wear not only the thickest breast pads known to woman but with the most sensible bra that you can find (the one you know your mother would approve of). I still end up with a bosom either side of Daveys neck like a rather jaunty pair of earmuffs if not lashed down like cars in the hold of a cross channel ferry.

Although I can now march across the yard shoving a buggy in one hand and towing a full haynet in the other it is possible to hand the babies round in a complicated shuffle to ensure every horse gets mucked out and ridden and every baby gets mucked out and fed. I have been known after a night with very little sleep with a bad case of fried brain and walk into the stable and stand, blinking, trying to work whether I am supposed to be feeding, winding, changing or just shovelling manure.

You can also combine horses and babies in the supermarket. Nappies, not just for babies bums, they are a good standby poultice and cheaper than ones from the vet. Zinc and castor oil cream again for bums and mud fever. Carrots are just as welcomed by Beth for teething on as by Davey in his feed (my mum has just pointed out that adults can eat vegetables too - hush your filthy mouth).

Bethany has already made friends with Davey. He assumes anything white is for wiping his nose on, my wedding dress included (you should see the photos where I'm holding my flowers to hide the snot) so a small person in a white snowsuit must be just for him. She now grabs a handful of whiskers as his face goes past her so I think I'll stop sterilising bottles soon. She also sits and supervises me mucking out his stable and laughing at me heaving buckets and bales about.

She has her own pair of green wellies - Avengers move over - these were THE "lovely lanky thigh boots", and I found a place that does jodhpur boots in a size 3. Roll on the days when little girls want to help their mums with the horse work.