Midwives are magic Zen masters.
They exude an air of calm and leave you treats of mental time to spare.
So when one sees a midwife spring into huffy action making speedy appointments on your behalf, using phrases like ‘low fluid’ and ‘handing you over to the gynaecologist’, your heart beats that little bit less comfortably and the time to spare evaporates.
Yesterdays midwife visit was one such moment. ET is big and round, and only getting bigger and rounder. In an attempt to measure the baby the midwife had doubts over the level of amniotic fluid she could feel and thought it better to arrange an ultrasound to be on the safe side.
So there we found ourselves once again staring up at a grainy screen having unidentifiable body parts pointed out to us against a whooshy soundtrack. It transpires that all is well and the midwife’s caution was just her being thorough.
She was right on one point; it’s a big ‘un. Quite an odd shaped big ‘un by all accounts. With short wee legs, and a small head, it still manages to weigh more even now than most newborns do thanks to a ginormous belly.
We are basically breeding a Jerry Springer guest. A short arsed fatty. At least we will save on the cost of a paternity test.
As we left she semi-jokingly commented that it could easily arrive tonight.
That remains to be seen, but in the meantime this isn’t a bad sight to tide us over.
1 week, 6 days.