Baby Been Bad

I had five straight days without a doctor and then I had to ruin it today by going to see an obstetric specialist. I’ve been referred to her because my pregnancy has been deemed High Risk. For once, this is not because of my lack of fashion sense or the fact that I tend to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. (I once suggested to my delightful friend B that he looked like a paedophile. It was the way he was smiling smugly next to a small Mexican boy, and I swear for that moment he looked like he’d just had some little boy action.) Anyway, apparently having twins, combined with my family history of diabetes, makes me someone they need to poke, prod and point at a bit more regularly. So off I trot to Ms Dr Powerbabe and she tells me I’ve been very bad. I ask her to use a word that doesn’t have a value judgement attached. She tells me she’s judging my behaviour, not me. We somehow get into an argument that involves me calling on Descartes (I think, therefore I am), quoting Shakespeare (If you prick me, do I not bleed?) and reminding her that Dr Atkins, of the Famous Atkins Diet, died of heart problems.

I suspect I have become an annoying prat who badly wants to put my English literature degree to some use, so I shut up as she weighs me. She mumbles something about me being bad again, but this time I gravely agree. Then she realises I’ve actually lost a kilo and suddenly pronounces me good. I restrain myself from leaping through the window to my fat death.

And in happy news, little O has surprised us all by secretly sprouting a tooth.

Lesson to all parents – don’t be so busy looking up your child’s bumhole that you forget to look in her mouth.