I reckon if you dangled me from a cliff by my wobbly bits, I could write you up a storm.
Sit me down in a field of heather and daises where my greatest worry would be hay fever, or ants in my picnic basket, and I couldn't give you two interesting words to rub together.
Before June the 7th, or pre 'euphoric urination day' to give it its proper title, I was full of prose, misery, knob jokes, and neediness. Now, I'm full of laziness, Pringles, and excuses not to bother bathing.
General happy as a pig-in-shitness does not stimulate my creative juices.
There is nothing going on. Granted, there never really has been anything going on, but at least I was able to run that nothing through my human mangle of a brain and spit out something to amuse myself with.
Now, the best I can do is to tell you how Little Fitz is getting on, now that he, or she, is wife invading its way to the end of week ten.
It now has a nose that is 'clearly visible'. Visible to who, or to what, the book doesn't say, but ET will knee me in the face if I approach her guts with a torch again .
The wee bugger also has formed eyes, which are fused shut, like a perpetual Sunday morning. Lest there be any confusion, my Sunday morning eye fusion is somewhat more likely to be the result of a hangover, than any exuberant deity worshipping.
Inside its wee mouth, which is undoubtedly already miming 'please father' and 'thank you papa', is home to twenty little tooth buds.
About those teeth sunshine, keep the good ones, ditch the baby ones. Not the other way around. Like me. At thirty.
'Braces & a sperm sample' is the story of my last two years, so get your own angle, kid.
So, no genitals of note, an oversized head, fused shut eyelids, and twenty bloody tooth buds already formed. As much as the books try to make that sound cute, or as much as the ultrasound pictures make this child look like a penguin dozing in a hammock, Little Fitz is currently marginally north of Gollum in the handsome stakes.
I'm going to be really pissed if this kid doesn't emerge from ET's underpass exactly like the cute baby on the cover of this book I pick up 7 times a day. Complete with woolly hat.
Just without the coffee ring on his nose and the Pringle dust fingerprint on his forehead. Hopefully.