It's difficult to park in this confined space, Dad!

Baby Cake

Baby oil - Yum yum

Just another 4 weeks and a bit to go, and the little guy hasn't turned yet. We can't distinguish his head from his bottom but I have a feeling he still remains in a "standing" position. I can see that he's trying, it's just that he's left it a little late, like his dad. My sister told me that she used ice blocks on her stomach when she was pregnant to see my nephew move around. I thought I'd try this out in a circular motion, hoping he would try and move away from the cold and get into position. It was a good idea in theory, but it was my wife that couldn't handle the cold, so that was the end of that experiment.

The baby shower has been and gone, not without a few hiccups, that I won't go into now, but it looks like there are enough nappies to last a month or so, and the cake was lovely. A friend of Michelle's made it. I decapitated it and consumed the head, whilst the rest was shared amongst her colleagues. (and the liquorice around the sides is missing, because I ate those too)

The first casualty from the baby shower gifts was a bottle of baby oil. My dog, Garp, must have got it off the coffee table and taken it outside, where he drank the entire bottle. Should I be worried? It's not like him to do that sort of thing (he's an old man now). I was concerned that it might have a detrimental effect on him, but he hasn't "let one off" for four days now. He can release a powerful odour that almost makes the paint on the walls bubble. I might just feed him the stuff regularly.

F**k my C**t!

These are the first words my son would have heard when he was forced to go to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers concert last week. The opening band was "Die Antwoord" and their first song and all others after that contained a litany of profanities. I tried to cover his ears but I wasn't sure where his head was, so I had to guess and I hope I guessed right. I wasn't thinking four months ago when I bought the tickets, and neither did I know that the sound would be as loud as it was. I can only imagine what the bass sound must have felt like as it reverberated through his little cushion of amniotic fluid. I may as well have pressed a cattle prod to the increasing bulge that has become my wife. Maybe it felt like the spin cycle on a washing machine for him, or a ride on an electrically malfunctioning roller coaster.

In any event, I hope it caused him no permanent damage, and I hope that the baroque music I played for him afterwards went some way to ameliorate the effects of the concert.

It is also quite astonishing that people in general seem impervious to the fact that a pregnant woman may be in their midst. I had to, at times, form a barrier with my arm, lest some hyped-up concert goer bump into my wife's stomach. At this stage it is no small protrusion and anyone who sees her coming would have seen that part of her a few seconds before they saw the rest of her.

My curled up child will be going to another concert next week and before I'm reported for abuse, rest assured that this will be far more subdued and even beneficial for him. With Sixto Rodriguez being as old as he is, this is probably the only chance my son will get of hearing him live.

We had another scan this week and all I got to see was a large ear, which seemed to project itself at a rather peculiar angle, much like a satellite dish. I don't know where he might have got it from, as my side of the family have perfectly formed ears, and so do my wife's side, from what I've seen. It could very well be that it's growth was exacerbated by some of the dubious sounds he's heard. We were hoping for a natural birth, but the little bugger hasn't turned around yet and it looks like there is little chance that he will. (apparently there is not enough amniotic fluid left to do so)

It looks like he still has his foot in his mouth and I'm beginning to wonder if he's ever taken it out. I only hope that it hasn't fused to his mouth or something. Other than that, there was not much to see. Just a mass of stuff that with a little imagination, could look like Humphrey Bogart.

Die Antwoord

Have you cleaned up your womb?

This is the first thing I ever said to my son and he kicked in acknowledgement. (whether that was affirmative or not, I'll never know) There are eight weeks to go now until he pops out. He isn't kicking so much as moving about, probably trying to find a comfortable position in his ever shrinking womb.

At the antenatal class this week, I learnt about breasts and their content, and about post natal depression. I had a dream afterwards that my wife had four pairs of breasts, like a boob shelf. I don't suppose it's something that's brought up in conversation quite often, but what does it taste like? It's been over 40 years since I've had any, so I can't remember. I read some time ago of someone in the UK turning breast milk into ice cream and apparently it's become quite a seller. With all the nutrients it contains it probably tastes like one of those anabolic shake things one sees on every other shop shelf these days.

Will I be able to use it if I run out of milk for my morning coffee? Or shake the vestibules thereof and have a cappuccino instead?

These are some of the things I found myself thinking about during the antenatal breast milk discussion. All that talk of engorged breasts, a future without sleep or silence, nappies and the various hues of poop that would fill them, led me to conclude that I might be suffering from pre-natal depression. They only ever talk about the post stuff! Surely there is at least such a thing as pre-natal stress, which I believe I'm fully entitled to?

I wanted to ask if nipples that are now the size of saucers and the colour of black coffee will return to their original dimensions. I know that would have seemed like a frivolous question to most, but I'm sure I wasn't the only one thinking it. Maybe I'll ask that question in the last minute of the last class.

The baby room still has a tumble dryer, boogie board, double bed and two bicycles in it. In other words, I haven't really achieved much in that department apart from clearing the cupboard. My son's future big brother, Garp (our dog), seems to know that something is afoot. He also has that pre-natal thing I was talking about.