Seeing the Future

Now the nursery is finished, and we have under seven weeks until the arrival of an occupant for that room, we've become obsessed with the gender of the unborn child. 

No.. 

That's not fair.. 

Liz, although mildly curious, remains calm and, despite suffering with the negative side-effects of pregnancy (aches, pains, indigestion, sleeplessness, etc), remarkably happy and content about the whole thing.  

No, it's me that has this sudden fascination as to whether baby K will be a boy or a girl.  I guess it's just because knowing would make it so much easier to envisage them in that room.  Actually I don't know why really, I'm just really, really intrigued.  It's like those Christmases of old where you didn't actually know what you were going to get, and were really, really excited about finding out.

Of course, this is a complete reversal from three months ago, when I proclaimed that I didn't want to know and was looking forward to the surprise of when the midwife whips it out, dangles it by it's ankles, slaps it's arse and announces: "It's a.....". 

Which is a pity really, as three months ago we were going for the second scan where they could have told exactly what we were having.  To quote the wisdom of Homer (Homer J. Simpson, that is): "D'oh!".

So.. with everyone providing us with their own counsel as to what gender the imminent arrival might be, none based on any scientific or even convincing evidence, we decided to turn to the provider of all known wisdom throughout the ages...  Old Wives' Tales.

There's a million or so of these on the internet, all claiming to provide some indication of what is the gender of the child that is currently kicking the bejesus out of the inside of Liz's ribcage.  Here's just a few so you can see how random they are..

- Whether the expectant mother has more of a craving for sweet or sour food..
- Whether the expectant mother's tummy looks more like a watermelon or a beach ball..
- Whether the baby is being carried high or low in the womb..
- Whether the expectant Mum's feet have got colder or have stayed the same temperature..
- Whether the expectant Mum has lost her looks (ask that at your own risk!!)..
- Whether the expectant Mum's nose has spread..
- Whether the grandmother has grey hair or not (and not includes dyed hair! FFS!).

All of the above (and about a hundred more, too many to mention, in fact) all claim to point to whether I shall get a son or a daughter in late May, or early June.  Madness isn't it?  And although we had answers seemed to be pointing in one direction more than the other, we still weren't entirely satisfied with the method at which we were getting such an indication.

It is, therefore, probably a combination of this curiosity and disappointment of the information already retrieved, that we ended up with a ring being dangled on a piece of cotton above Liz's belly last night.  This is not some bizarre sexual practice (although with a double-entendre filter on the previous sentence I can see how you might think it is), but is yet another way of seemingly determining the gender of an unborn baby.  You see, the mum-to-be lies on her back, and you take a ring (supposed to be a wedding ring, but we're entirely too white trash to actually have a child in wedlock, so an engagement ring had to do) and attach a piece of cotton to it.  The ring is then suspended on the cotton, above the womb, and how it moves (either in a circular arc or swinging back or forth) will tell you whether it's a girl or a boy having a snooze in the belly below. 

So we tried it.. and we got a result..
And the result seemed to match the majority of answers we'd already been told.
I wasn't convinced.. so I switched the hand that was holding the cotton, steadied the ring and we tried again.. and we got a result..

Hmmm.. is twice a co-incidence?
One last time..
Ooh.. look.. the same result.

So a lot of these Old Wives' Tales, and the "Ring on the piece of cotton" test appear to be, on the whole, indicating one result....

..And I'll be back in a maximum of seven weeks time to either praise or debunk these theories!

I.. Am.. Ruined..

Gadzooks!
Do you remember Mr Claypole, the camp jester from TV's Rentaghost always used to say that? Well it is the only word that seems to fit just now.

I thought bank holiday weekends were supposed to be relaxing?

If so, why is this the longest time I've had to sit down since breakfast on Good Friday??

Okay since then the back room has been gutted and turned into a very attractive nursery (a very heavily Winnie The Pooh themed room I might add) and yes I stood all afternoon at a football match too (no wonder me pins are knackered), but at what cost? I feel like a total wreck now!

So now that I have listed a couple Beatles rarities that I am selling on eBay, I intend to collapse into a large glass of brandy and watch the latest episode of 24 (is a good season so far this year).

Tomorrow I shall have a day off, dammit!

Literally hours to go

Morning Campers!

Well the bank holiday weekend is almost here, it's literally so close you can almost smell it, can't you?

And, with any luck, the bank holiday weekend should be the last chaotic weekend until, well until junior arrives to be honest.  You see, this weekend the spare room will be converted into a nursery.  Tonight bookshelves, which used to contain loads of books until we sold them at a car boot sale, will be dismantled, the broadband cable will be re-routed and the computer will be moved.  And over the weekend, thanks to a couple of coats of yellow gloss and several rolls of Winnie-the-Pooh wallpaper, a nursery will be born.

After that we're just about prepared you know.  All of the major renovations and room transformations will have been done, we've bought loads of things ready for the moment that K enters the world kicking and screaming.  Now we play the waiting game..  Everyone is convinced that K's arrival will be early, but I am still clinging to the hope that the little 'un will arrive bang on time, allowing my paternity leave to coincide with the opening couple of weeks of the World Cup.

And talking of football, this weekend ain't all work, work, work (as the bloke on the cheesy Natwest advert used to say, after he explained (hilariously) that filling the ATM machine was a lot like filling a photocopier except "the paper is more expensive" - guffaw!!) as we're all off to Blackburn on Sunday to enjoy their wonderful hospitality, and -hopefully- a splendid game of Premiership Football.