Mister Jim Writes

My Dad appears to be getting increasingly excited about the new arrival.

To: Ellie
From: Dad
Subject: Where's my baybbeeeeeeeeeeee??????????????

Mum has lost the scan pic. Can you send it as an attachment? I think I can get jpeg and pdf. Hope you o.k.

June now eh? Here are the Test match Fixtures for June. Please arrange around these dates:

10:00 GMT | 11:00 Local
England v Sri Lanka at Lord's, 2nd Test - day 1

Sat Jun 4
10:00 GMT | 11:00 Local
England v Sri Lanka at Lord's, 2nd Test - day 2
- West Indies v India at Port of Spain, Only T20I

Sun Jun 5
10:00 GMT | 11:00 Local
England v Sri Lanka at Lord's, 2nd Test - day 3

[Continues for several pages]

Thu Jun 30
09:45 GMT | 10:45 Local
England Women v New Zealand Women at Derby, Women's One-Day Series in England

Much Love Daggggghhhhhhddddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!n xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I might be shocked and dismayed by the emphasis Dad is placing on a sports tournament versus a huge life-changing event, if I hadn't last year received a similar email titled "Great news about wedddinge!!!!!" containing a list of all the World Cup fixtures.

The Littlest Hobbo

Today was the 12-week scan. Turns out it's actually in there! And it's got a head and everything!

The scan was very exciting, and initially terrifying.

"Mrs Hobbo?" said the nurse who called me in from the waiting room. (I've shortened Pete's surname for the purposes of this blog. I didn't actually marry a man called Hobbo.)

"Yes," I said.

"Ah, hello. Now then, it says here you're having twins?"

"WHAT?"

The nurse looked back down at her clipboard. "Ah, ha ha, no, probably some kind of misunderstanding."

She led me into the doctor's room. "Ah, Mrs Hobbo," he said.

"Hello," I replied.

"Now then. I see you're having twins?"

"WHAT???" I said. "First I've heard of it. You tell me, DOCTOR."

"Ah, ha ha, no, probably some kind of paperwork error," said the doctor.

Really looking forward to going through the most dangerous, painful and important medical procedure of my life with these people at my side.

Anyway, it turns out there is in fact just the one baby in there. He or she (no, we don't know and yes, we're pretending not to care) is doing fine.

The doctor gave us a due date of 24^th June. Though judging by the twins thing this baby could be born any time between Easter and the Olympics.

Dressage

Still a week to go until the 12-week scan. I can't wait till I can tell people about the baby and explain the new pot belly I'm sporting isn't there because I've been eating three pork pies and several Marmite cheesy bites between every meal (I have).

Getting ready for the Lilleys' wedding party tonight was quite traumatic. Most of my cute, tight cocktail dresses now make me look like a burst cocktail sausage.

I tried on each one in turn, parading them in front of Pete, demanding that he be honest and throwing a strop when he was.

Eventually we found a winner. "Yes, that's the one!" said Pete, as I twirled around in the black chiffon number. "That dress doesn't make you look pregnant, just fat!"

Some other words were then exchanged.

Reminds me of the other day, when I was gratefully complimenting Pete on how lovely he's been when it comes to looking after me and making sure I have everything I need.

"Well, I know that as long as you're warm, fed and and not in any distress, you're fine," said Pete. "It's a bit like having a horse, really."

Pregnant Women Are Smug

This is my new favourite video.

In the Club

Lunch with Jon F, Boyd, The Future Mrs Boyd and Baby Boyd, who is only six months old. It was really lovely to see how happy they are, how gorgeous the baby is and how well TFM Boyd looks, even when covered in white sick.

Then it was off to Chloë's mince pie party. Everyone there seemed to be either pregnant, recently pregnant or keen to know when I was planning to get pregnant. Especially Dan K and Miriam, who had Josephine just last year.

"Go on," said Dan K. "Just do it. You'll love it."

Miriam leaned back on the sofa and fixed me with a solemn gaze. "I think you should wait," she said.

I shrugged and knocked back yet another mug of mulled cranberry juice. At least there's no chance of this baby getting any urinary infections.

Baby Blues

Off to Brighton for Lilley's stag do. A new discovery today: it's easier to lie about not drinking if you secretly buy a bottle of non-alcoholic lager, like Becks Blue, and hold it so no one can see the label.

The only drawback to this ingenious ploy is that you have to drink Becks Blue. I can only assume it is called this because after two sips you slip into a deep depression at the realisation you're going to spend the next eight months drinking carbonated urine.

I left the stag do early. I wasn't sure the presence of a pregnant woman was going to make the rest of the night go with that much of a swing.

Not So Fierce Now

Cried at an episode of America's Next Top Model. This is really happening.

Dance Like Everyone's Watching

I thought that once I got pregnant and stopped drinking, my life would change completely - that I'd become calmer, stay in more, and become less prone to embarassing myself in public on a grand scale.

So how come last night I ended up dancing live on stage to Salt 'n' Pepa's Push It with Louis Spence?

Vera, Chuck and Dave

Met up with my parents today. They are very excited about the baby, though Dad seems to be struggling with what its arrival signifies about the stage he has reached in its life.

"I don't want it to call me Grandad," he said, frowning. "I'm not old enough to be a Grandad."

My father is 64.

"Well," I said, "What do you want it to call you?"

Dad thought long and hard.

"Mister Jim," he said.

I had a sudden vision of my father sitting on a Raj-era verandah, being presented with a drink on a tray by a small child in a loincloth: "Here is your gin, Mister Jim."

I think we'll stick with Grandad.

Moving On Up

Pete's been so lovely since he found out I was pregnant. Attentive, considerate, always on-hand with a cup of tea or a bacon sandwich. It's like having a butler. Wish he'd stop moaning about the bow tie and tails though.

Today he came in and said, "I just want you to know that I am completely devoted to you. From now on, it is my job to do whatever you tell me to, without question."

"Oh darling," I said. "That's been your job for years. You just got a promotion."

Eat, Drink and be Wary

Lunch with Chloë. Another minefield of deception. Today was especially hard as Chloë is seven months pregnant herself.

Looking at the menu, I realised I still don't really know what I can and can't eat. This resulted in an interrogation which was probably quite unnerving.

"So Chloë, what are you having? The quiche?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why? Because you can't eat it because it's dangerous? Or just because you don't feel like it?"

"I don't fancy it, really."

"What about the smoked salmon? Are you having the smoked salmon?"

"Um, no."

"Could you have the smoked salmon though, if you wanted it?"

"No."

"Really? But it's smoked though, isn't it? Surely that's all right? I mean, suppose you really wanted the smoked salmon, and there was nothing else on the menu you fancied, it would probably be all right to have the smoked salmon, wouldn't it, all things considered? I mean it is smoked."

Etc.