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Draw Blood

I had a medical check-up on Monday. Once in a while employees in Belgium have to go through this mandatory procedure to check to what extent their employer has poisoned, maimed or irradiated them with uranium isotopes.

So after a little wait the nurse came for me. As I am the very image of health, I didn't have to undress. She just checked my eyes, and noticed I have two, which is apparently in accordance to the Belgian legislation. Then she asked me all sorts of questions in bad Dutch, so after a while I got embarressed because I had to say 'Excuse me?' repeatedly. But luckily she didn't conclude that I have a hearing deficiency from that.

Then she asked me if she could draw some blood - I assume it was for secret highly illegal government tests. 'Sure', I said because I didn't want to be taken for a feeble cry-baby.

What she forgot to mention however, is that she would use a corkscrew to open up my artery. So now I look like a veteran herroin addict.

ETA Of The Baby: Mid-September

We took the belly to the gynaecologist the other day for another check. After a bit of mucking about with clear toothpaste and her echo scanning thingy, the baby doctor explained that all is looking well. Mrs.B is not having those dangerous series of contractions any more. The extra days of rest have worked - even the doctor remarked that she is not bouncing off the walls any more.

However, it's not clear whether Mrs.B's cervix has thinned or not - it just may have. so this Friday she has to have another check-up just to be on the safe side. If she passes that one, we can go on holiday to France. If we can't go, I may develop contractions.

What's also clear is that we're going to get a whopping baby, his or her measurements are well above average. Seems like Wolf is not going to push this little brother or sister around!

Big Belly – Big Baby

We went to the gynaecologist’s yesterday evening, for the baby’s monthly check-up. We had an appointment at 7.15pm, but when we arrived there were some 50.000 people in the waiting room. The doctor had been called away to a delivery earlier that day, so there was a delay of at least two hours. ‘Probably more like three’, said his helpful yet slightly pessimistic secretary.

No use in planting ourselves in the waiting room for three hours, so we drove back home to grab a bit to eat. After a healthy diner consisting of two large packets of fries, a curryworst spéciale (kind of sausage buried below layers of sauce and onions), a grizzly (spicy minced meat in batter), bitterballs (crispy balls with unspecified saucy filling), a sito-stick (alleged turkey with slices of onion in batter on a stick) and a kipcorn (industrially-processed chicken waste in corn batter), we returned two hours later to the baby-doctor.

Unfortunately, the waiting room was still packed. We had to wait for another hour before we could enter the doctor’s cabinet, and we were the lucky ones. Some people had their appointment scheduled at 9.30pm. I really felt sorry for the doctor when I shook his hand. He looked very tired and he still had hours of work in front of him. Still, he was his usual calm, confident and humorous self. A couple of minutes later we were all staring at the monitor, looking at slices of our child-to-be. The biggest surprise came when he calculated the weight of the baby. Normally it should weigh around 900-950 grams. Ours is a bit bigger. Actually, a lot bigger. Make that a whopping 30% bigger, bending the digital needle of the virtual scales to 1 kilo and 200 grams.

The doctor explained that this was rather exceptional. And then he blamed me for the baby’s size. My dearest darling is a bit apprehensive, she is trying desperately to imagine how she is going to press that little bundle of joy out of her tummy and into the delivery room in a couple of months time. I assume there will be some cursing and other foul language and I expect to be the main target. It may even get to physical violence. I start to understand why some new dads prefer to pass-out during delivery.

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