taking the piss in baggy trousers
I’ve seen the future; it’s a pair of expanding-waistband trousers. Thank god for e-bay and women selling all their expensively bought, hardly used maternity clothes for next to nothing. I’ve now got more pairs of maternity jeans than I have ever had normal jeans and I love them, love them. Maternity clothes are fantastic: so comfy, so extensible. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to normal clothes again.
I also love my little red funnel. I carry it with me everywhere these days as I never know when I’ll be required to produce a sample. The funnel takes all the anxiety and mess out of the sample-taking process - no more drips, no more tears of frustration, no more wet hands. Of course, one still has to be able to pee on demand, but I take the pupster as my inspiration - lots of little drinks results in the ability to do lots of little wees.
I’m officially one-third of the way through sprout’s gestation. This morning I had my first appointment with an obstetrician, not "my" obs though, a spare they had knocking about. He ushered me through a door marked "not in use" and apologised for taking me to what appeared to be a broom cupboard, saying that they were fully booked.
I sat staring at an unplugged screen while he muttered and mumbled his way through my notes.
"No chance of seeing my most recent blood results on screen, then?"
He took my sample pot and, while testing the contents, managed to drip my wee on to the floor (luckily he missed his feet).
"Ah! Beautiful!" He said while gazing at a strip of mustard spots on the testing strip.
He stepped over the puddle to wash his hands at the basin and spilt water when the tap gushed unexpectedly. He then bent down and cleaned up the water - but left the spilt wee.
I won’t be seeing him again.