Week 41…What gives? He should be here by now.
Officially, our little schnitzel is D-Day +7…(and counting). I’ve heard of things getting lost in the mail, but lost in the fe-male? Come on!
So, today we head in for some CTG monitoring. That’s when they hook up some electrodes to a car battery and try and jump start the car…it isn’t? My bad. It’s when they get creepy looking KGB agents in dark suits with outdated spy equipment and huge earmuffs, to monitor what’s going on inside the womb and report back to the Kremlin.
Or...somewhere in between.
Basically, they monitor what’s going on inside…“Hey, wasuup li’l man?” and check the placenta is doing what it’s supposed to do. There’s nothing worse than an undisciplined placenta, I’ve always said that. So…
“For Pete’s sake. Sit up straight and do what you’re supposed to do! Okay?” — wow, it’s like I can hear my Grandfather yelling at his own uncooperative little man, in bed after a few too many wines, all over again.
Then, we’re scheduled for an internal exam tomorrow…(damn, I haven’t studied or anything. I asked if any of this was going to be on the test and they said…no), and then they’ll schedule him in for an induction. Which initially, I was extremely excited about, before learning that “induction” is NOT a form of suction cup boot for specifically walking inside, on the ceiling.
But I will be there for support no matter what. Because unfortunately, I am Sir Alec Guinness to my wife’s, Carrie Fisher. In that, almost all of her family will be in Bali for two weeks, when our little son arrives. So, it will definitely be a case of…
“Help me OB-1, you’re my only hope…”
And hopefully, I’m man enough to be all the support she needs. It’s lonely out there in space, no-one can hear you screa– “Oh, my god! What is THAT??!!”