Hewbri – hoobriss – how do you spell that again?

That gloating yesterday, I regret it. Rose has spent the last 45 minutes shooting out of her room as if she was in a pinball machine. She was very happy getting her star in a small ceremony this morning, over daddy’s comatose body. Tomorrow’s ceremony won’t be quite so fun I fear.

If I have to tell anyone who hasn’t had a baby before, or in the last 20 years, about my pregnancy problems, when I get to the end of the latest long boring story about scans, bleeding and hospital food, they then say: ‘But is everything ok?’ or: ‘So you’re fine then.’ I would like to say that I’m not fine. I’M NOT BLOODY FUCKING FINE. Ok, I’m not actually in hospital but things keep going wrong and I’ve got used to the idea that they will keep on going wrong. So every time somebody tells me I’m fine or ok it reminds me about all the things that have gone wrong already and makes me imagine just what else will go wrong. I could make a list here but that would be unhealthy. The only good thing is that if I have to have the baby early it should be just about ready. Small, but basically, you know, fine.


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