Things to come

As far as being a pair of immigrants goes, we've had it good.

For a dozen reasons Holland is a great place to be based. One of which, while not very important in the grand scheme of things, is my favourite.

We have always been able to see the best gigs, in great venues, not half an hour away from our front door, and all for ridiculously little money.

Autumn and Winter see the best shows roll into Amsterdam, and I always keep a beady eye on what's coming up.

One in particular ET asked me to arrange tickets for, The Swell Season at the end of November.

Bearing in mind a progressing pregnancy, that would have been as good a time as any to see them. Tickets were bought, and plans were made

Until today, when a taste of our future concert going abilities popped into my inbox.

The concert is postponed. Until February next year. Falling delightfully on ET's birthday, but less delightfully 6 days after her due date. The irony of The Swell Season coming to town at the height of her own swelling season has not gone unnoticed.

An abrupt stop to our gallop, cheekily reminding us that our time isn't our own for very much longer. Oh well petal, this will have to do you.


I'll try and pick you up a t-shirt, okay?

Books in her belly

Pregnancy books are full of rubbish.

We have half a dozen of them and check them nine times a day, but they are full of rubbish none the less.

By all accounts, and I would dearly love to know how they know this, if you were to touch the kidlets palms right now, it would close its fingers.

Likewise, a tickle to the soles of its feet would make its toes curl.

Has someone, somewhere found a way to tickle the palms and soles of 13 week old foetuses?

Basically, its all made up to make fools like me buy books. It works a treat mind you.

More irritating than being conned into dropping 20 quid a time to be fed a load of unfounded nonsense, is the fruit comparison of the week. Little Fitz is the size of a peach.

Peaches give me the creeps. Fruit should not be furry. Humans should not be likened to furry fruit. Not to mention that Roald Dahl wrote a book about a boy called James having adventures in a giant peach. That's just creepy.

The idea that my son or daughter is being compared to something furry, supposedly edible, yet large enough to host a mischievous boy is far too psychedelic for me to handle on a Tuesday morning.

Shudder. And breathe.

In better news from the land of useless information, the kids face is looking more human, and its ears are in the 'right place'. I'm not sure where they were hanging out before now, but either way, there'll be no Lord of the Rings cameos for this bundle of joy.

Its kidneys are secreting urine. I'm not even remotely ashamed to say that I find it very amusing to think of the baby piddling all over its mother.

Also, kidlets neck is now strong enough to support head movements. This is very reassuring, because if there is one thing this kid of ours is going to need, it's a tough neck.

Oh, and, thirteen weeks tomorrow. Yikes.