Internal Affairs

So, we just got back from the CTG Monitoring and we’re…all good.

Schnitzel aced the exam (to be expected), but it was a little unsettling to watch. If you examine the pics below, you’ll see my lovely wife looks like she was in fact being interrogated by the KGB (perhaps my thoughts CAN manifest into reality?…Better watch what I think about in future).

Either that, or she looks like a contestant on a sadistic medical game show version of  Spicks and Specks. Only every time she presses the buzzer, Adam Hills gives her an electric shock! But just so her mother doesn’t have a cardiac arrest thinking she’s the subject of some kind of euthanasia experiment, all this machine does is monitor the baby’s heart rate, and every time momma feels the baby move, she presses the buzzer…(and administers a tiny electrical shock…NO…a handful of feeding pellets drops from the ceiling…NO…she receives a telegram from a Czech Republican man in Prague that simply reads…CUT IT OUT).

In slightly less exciting terms, it actually just registers a tiny musical note on the readout whenever the baby’s heart rate spikes, so they know the spike was caused by his own moving and not something more drastic, like trying to escape his dad’s bad jokes.

Then my lovely wife was offered something called a…“scratch’n’sniff”…NO…“search’n’rescue?”…NO…“catch’n’release?”…WAIT…A…


Which is NOT a 70’s rock band, NOR a new sizing of ladies jeans. It is in fact a little procedure they do to possibly help move things along a bit. I won’t go into too much detail, suffice to say, my lovely wife now knows what it’s like to be…a Muppet. (And not from the Jim Henson end of things, but more from Kermit the Frog’s side of the fence).

But, from all reports, most people who’ve had this done report going into labour within the proceeding 12 hrs (and also report anyone trying this at home without washing their hands afterwards).

So, fingers crossed. Something will definitely be happening within the next 12 hrs…possibly…maybe…hopefully?

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Only The Lonely

Week 41What 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??!!”