to be filed under: who knew?
This just in from the BBC's excellent, if frequently deeply disturbing, pregnancy calendar:
The foetus can now urinate and the urine is discharged into the amniotic fluid.
Just wait until Sprout comes out - then I'll have my revenge.
In other news, tonight TA and I are bussing across London to pick up a small, second-hand "antique stain style" cot. Woo! I love me some Freecycle action. If you see two people struggling on a rush-hour bus with a not-so-small-after-all cot, please lend us a hand.
This morning lying in bed, while I was in denial that I that today was a work day and I should have got up an hour ago, TA cuddled me and said, "I am glad you're pregnant." And for a moment the world melted and went all fuzzy; that said, I started sobbing last night at the sadness of Radio 4's news, so perhaps this was just yet another example of the terrors of preghead.
Finally, yesterday's entry was supposed to be funny. Apologies it it appeared that I'd lost not only the plot but also the programme and was busy hunting for stale popcorn at the back of the seat.