Grrr. Argh. (25 + 1)

Is TJ going to be one of those baby attack dogs who snap at strangers? I had my 25-week appointment with my doctor this morning – how I love that man – and he hadn’t been prodding my stomach for very long before receiving an irritated kick to his little finger. Wait till we get to the appointments with Examinations in Personal Places, my love, and see how you like that. Not very much, I suspect, and that goes for both of us.

This is the attack dog face TJ is likely to inherit. Poor child.

In other news, how many women are having babies on Grovelands Road at the moment? I cannot make a midwife appointment for love nor money.  Tracy and I may not be the closest of compatriots, but I would like to see her occasionally. Can you go to the hospital to see midwives, I wonder? I don’t mind driving further, at least while I can still fit behind the wheel.

I had a moment of panic this afternoon when I realised that, 25 weeks on, I am now only THREE weeks from beginning my third trimester. You know, the third trimester where you’re nearly there and you grow to a gargantuan size and then a baby comes out.  The anxiety wasn’t helped when we watched the first episode of Inside the Human Body on iPlayer which was, of course, all about making babies (in…um…a non-sexy sense). After watching the caesarean delivery of premature triplets and an excruciatingly natural birth on a gurney in Rwanda, I went right off my Horlicks.

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