Lightning. I meant lightning. But I like your theory Vlado. I really must read my posts before publishing them. Still no sign of it, either.
All fine at the doctor's. No protein in the wee, weight ok, belly measuring 34 weeks. 'There's plenty of baby in there,' he keeps assuring me. 'Don't let anyone tell you it's going to be small.' 'But it won't be huge either, will it?' I always ask, hopefully.
People keep telling me stories about people they know who've given birth in cars on the way to hospital. I'm already convinced that Thieu will be doing the nightshift when I go into labour and I'll be riding my bike there. Or calling a cab. And then all that money on an OB for nothing!
The doctor told me today he works 28 days on and then has 2 days off. That doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun. Plus he must be roused from his slumbers several times a week to deliver babies. No wonder there are so few of them around.
I seem to be very well. I'm not waddling but maybe that comes later. A few aches and pains but nothing like what other people seem to get. I've been lucky. Another three weeks left of work and then I will really have to face the Room of Fear.
Last night I finished reading an almost unrelentingly depressing book - 'I'll Take You There' by Joyce Carol Oates. It's divided into three sections with each section being slightly more grim than the last.
Part one: Bright misfit girl, whose father has just died, joins sorority in the 60s which only accepts her because she's meant to do their assignments for them. She doesn't belong and has very small breasts. She can't afford food and has to rifle through rubbish bins to get enough to eat. Then she has a nervous breakdown and gets tossed out of the sorority.
Part two: Bright misfit girl falls in love with older black student on campus who treats her very badly. She tries very hard to make him love her. She doesn't succeed. He beats her up.
Part three: Bright misfit girl discovers that her dead father is not dead at all, but has just been in jail. A happy moment? Not at all. Now he's dying for real and she goes to visit him in his last few days. She's not supposed to look at him because he's so disfigured and wasted away from cancer, but she sneaks a peak at him with a mirror over her shoulder. Bright misfit girl is so shocked by what she sees that she drops the mirror, it shatters and the father dies.
But despite all this, I actually quite enjoyed it although I can't really explain why. When something is so unrelentingly bleak like this I almost start to find it amusing. Last year I read a similarly grim novel by Rod Jones called Swan Bay. The basic premise: Woman falls in love with her university professor. They move in together with the woman's best friend. The woman becomes preganant. Then the professor falls in love with the best friend. Then it's discovered that the woman isn't pregnant at all, she has an enormous tumour in her stomach and is dying. They all keep living together. The best friend and the professor have twins (I think? Or possibly a miscarriage). The woman dies.
And that was basically it! By the end I was practically rolling on the floor with mirth. How could anything be so consistently, determindedly bleak! I was transfixed.
Writing for kids is so much more cheery. Good things happen to good people. Bad people get what they deserve. The poor kid finds the gold ticket in the chocolate bar and goes on to inherit the chocolate factory etc. I think, perhaps, I might just read kids books for the next couple of months.
Since Friday I've found out that four people I know are preggers. Extrodinary. Sadly, though, we also heard about a friend whose partner miscarried last week which is really awful, especially as rumours had started to spread about their unannounced pregnancy which will now have to be replaced with the sad finish to the story.
I have stopped worrying about receiving blankets and boppy pillows since venturing in to the Room of Fear over the weekend. This is the small room next to ours that will, apparently, be occupied by a small person in around six weeks, or so they say. We have been given lots of small person related objects over the last few months and my response has been, by and large to open the door of the Room of Terror, throw the objects in and quickly shut the door.
But last weekend, I made a bargain with myself to go in for just fifteen minutes, just to assess the state of 000 sized clothes. Turns out that there are quite a lot, which was soothing, especially as I haven't really bought anything. I suspect they're breeding in there. There's not much in the way of 00 sized clothes but I guess we can move onto the hessian sacks by then.
