Its now a week past the due date and still nothing, nada, zip - Rufous is still in there and refusing to budge (see pic right: no, it really is that shape). Clearly we're just giving him too cushy a ride and hence he now appears to be just laughing at us.. or worse. Last night he was pushing "something" directly into the inside of Mistress P's belly button, which upon inspection appeared suspiciously like he was giving us the finger. (I'm being serious here... it felt like a, or even "the", finger...)
And being a week overdue the phone/email has been running hot with "whats happened??" enquiries. Which is great, and helps fill the day now that...
We've decided upon a name!! (But we can only tell you it _isnt_ Rufous.)
Neither of us could ever have believed that selecting a moniker could ever be so hard or take so much bloody time. If it wasnt the name of some bloke one of us hated/loved/teased at school, became a despot ruler of a third world country or "looked funny", it was a name that formed a strange lilting rhym or started or ended in a "t" (and hence "Twat-kins").
Or, of course, we just didnt like it (or as Monty Python would put it; It "wets it's nest").
Between us we poo-poo'ed virtually the entire "top 100" names in the Victorian Birth, Deaths and Marriages list for the past 3 decades. Its not that we're picky or anything - but the next one had better be a girl (we've pre-selected a name already, just in case the ultrasound was ultra-wrong).
Of course there has continued to be some activity apart from baby naming. Mostly, for Mistress P, this has taken the form of walking. Along the beach with both mum and mum-in-law (bottom pic), along the Yarra River (could have done without the snake incident though - see the postscript at the end of previous post) and along the foreshore bushland of Bayside, for periods of up to one and half hours. Stirling stuff indeed.
But right now though she is crawling. Literally. In circles round the loungeroom floor. No, not some bizarre "making a connection with the baby" deal, but 'supposedly' 10 minutes of crawling can help spin the tike from posterior to anterior. Supposedly. (Maybe we will take JM's tip and tell her that washing the car will do it too... the Suby really does need a once over.)
AB on the other hand is finding he wakes each morning with an attack of the "should I really be at work?" guilts, and has taken to jumping on the mountain bike every other day and heading off along the Beach Rd bikepath for an hour or twos ride, assuring Mistress P that he is only a mobile phone call away at all times.This faith was tested, however, when Mistress P went for an early morning stroll along the beach with her mum, only to see AB punting along the nearby track but out of bellowing distance. A call was made...
And AB just sailed by oblivious to all crazy-frog ringtones and accompanying semaphore signals (i.e., Mistress P's delerious dancing up and down and arm waving). He has hence been forced to turn the phone up to 11 upon threat of kneecapping/divorce/changing every nappy when Rufous goes to solids.
So despite all the best intentions and pain in the pubic symphysis, and to the apparent dismay of most folks returning from their Easter break, Ruf has stayed put a week after the date originally pencilled in the diary. With all the old wives tales now tested and debunked (kinda like starring in our own episode of Mythbusters - minus the explosion at the end), the next step is the Friday meeting with the Docs at the horse-piddle. This in itself presents a dilemma.
Do we induce on that day if they suggest so, and hence take on the dreaded curse of Friday the 13th, or...
Do we wait the extra days(/daze) until 2 weeks past Due - the latest they let you go over in this day and age - and hence Mistress P is forced to give birth on... her own birthday??
(And we keep being assured that all this waiting is the easy bit...) Print this post
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