Hey, you, whatsit...

A decision must be made.

We need a name with which we can refer to this mutating being that has my wife growing out of it's arse.

Calling it 'my baby' is only going to cause confusion when that name is already bestowed upon my iPod, PC, photo printer, telly, and Smartphone.

Add the fact that ET and I can't ever agree on anything, to the delightful news that mood altering hormones have started to kick in, and we are having some trouble pinning a 'name' down between us.

You really haven't played a game of chicken until you've allowed a hormonal pregnant woman bring her face to within an inch of yours, all the while clueless as to whether you are about to get a kiss on the forehead, or a head butt to the bridge of your nose.

It does tend to encourage your agreement with her wishes.

On nicknames themselves, ET doesn't want to call the kid 'Bertie'.

I would be more willing to accept this rebuff of my suggestion had she not already scoffed at 'Bono' and dismissed 'Bruno'.

I don't know why they are all male names, she is convinced it's a girl. I also don't know why they all start with B, although I'm tempted to suggest 'Bugger'.

Either way, we have to call it something while it's busy denying me my conjugal rights in there. 'Squirt' is too obvious, even if it is a shamefully accurate description of how it came to exist.

'Spooge' makes me laugh, but I don't know how appropriate it will be to announce to folk that ET has a belly full of Spooge.

We are open to suggestions, but today in the spirit of ethnic harmony and procreation, I'm toying with the idea of calling it 'Miguel'.

Take that, Nixon.

Berries and buds

The apple seed baby has grown.

Well, I'm assuming it has grown because it's now being compared to a grain of rice, or a blueberry, depending on what you read.

Firstly, I'm not so sure a grain of rice is any bigger than an apple seed, and secondly, telling your average thirty-something year old Irishman that something is similar to a blueberry is about as useful as tits on a bull.

I'm not comfortable with all this measuring up against healthy foods and fruit business. I'd much prefer if they compared its size to things I'm familiar with.

'This week your baby is the size of a malteser, or a McNugget, or one of those sugar lumps you carry around in your pocket you disgusting man', would be much more indicative for me.

At its current age of 6 and half weeks old, this leader among embryos is growing a set of kidneys, which should come in handy. It also has buds for arms and legs, and I wonder if it's already trying to shove it's bud-fist into the empty space in its face where its mouth will be.

Where exactly you would fit these four limb buds, set of kidneys, and last week's beating heart on a blueberry, I'm not so sure.

Small as it may be, the bugger is demanding. Mouth or no mouth, it manages to communicate through it's host interpreter who in turn informs me what 'the baby wants'.

The baby wants the lasagne without the spinach so go back and get it, the baby wants the red throw over and not the blue one, and the baby wants to watch another episode of 'Ashes to ashes' and most definitely not that boring '24'.

In 9 days time we get to have a look at this wife squatter, and I'm bringing fruit.