Get Out Of The House!!!

D-Day +2(and counting).

What is it with kids and their reluctance to move out? That’s his problem…no independence.

Honestly, he’s behaving more like a skulky teenager than a baby. Complete disregard for anything we have to say and never comes out of his room!

When are we gonna meet this little guy? Surely he’s not just “imaginary” like Fairies, Santa Claus or Daryl Sommers?

I did have a dream last night that a somewhat short, rotund Indian doctor type person (I say “doctor” because he was wearing a long white coat. He may also just as easily have been a dentist, lab technician, evil scientist, football goal umpire or…a “flasher”. But I’m more comfortable just to go with “doc”). However, he was not so much McDreamy, as he was McPuddingPop.

So, McPuddingPop was scrawling numbers down in a type of ledger. (The kind you write numbers in, not the type that puts his lipstick on crooked and torments Batman). I look over his shoulder and see the following…

7lbs 4oz/52cm

Now, I don’t actually know if those numbers equate to anything in the real world, but in McPuddingPop speak, he said, “It’s a boy. 7lbs 4oz with an overall length of 52cm.” I remember thinking, “Wow, he’s outdone me by at least a couple centimetres. What about the rest of him, how much does that weigh?”

I can hear my wife now, “Yeah, right. In your dreams…” — Which it was, so…more points to me.

I’m a smart guy, but I’m pretty bad with numbers. I tend to stick them in people’s eyes or hide them behind car tyres and watch them get squished when the car pulls out, so don’t quote my figures as anything other than some random dream sequence articulated by a dessertly delicious Indian flasher.

So, what’s left to do? We have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon (hopefully, no white coats involved. Although, a “flasher” without a white coat is just a “streaker”. Either that, or we walked into a Life Drawing Class instead of an Examination Room), either way, it’s time to whack her up on the hoist and take a look under the hood.

Hopefully, the Doctor can make some sense of all this (our pregnancy situation, not my mind), and give us some kind of indication as to when our little schnitzel may be presenting himself, or whether he needs a little prod. And if 52cm is anything to go by, there’s no chance of that prod being so little, after all.

“He’s late, he’s late, for a very important date!”


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