Why I Love Thursdays, and the Gender Bender

Modem has now been installed, I am whole again. Thursday today, Monkey is 17 weeks old. Getting close to viability ... I can almost smell it. I seem to have stopped a lot of unecessary and unproductive worry, it's such a wasted emotion. Most of the things we worry about don't happen anyway, and if they do happen, all the worry in the world wouldn't have helped. So basically, I keep telling my head to shut the fuck up I am not listening.

It has been raining, raining, and raining here. I had our Christmas tree all set up next to the fireplace, with the usual tacky nativity setting complete with baby Jesus. This year, Shrek, Buddha, and Sonic the Hedgehog have all crowded around the manger too, which should make for interesting conversation in there. Anyway, it's so cold that I had to move everything off and move the tree so we could light the damn fire. I don't really enjoy the temperate weather up where I live. (I HATE the cold). Every year I count down until spring and then glorious summer. At the moment, I feel personally ripped off - it's freezing and the fire's on in the middle of December. I possibly could have SAD (seasonal affective disorder) ... ahhhhh, sorry. I'm pregnant, so shut the fuck up over a few clouds ....

Now. The gender of Monkey. With Tiger, I so, so hoped for a boy. I never said it out loud, because I didn't want Tiger to know or worry, (if he was a girl.) I have very, very strong feelings about gender disappointment .... my parents had 2 year old twin girls when I was in utero, my father was hanging for a boy. And told everyone so. In those days you couldn't find out. So, when I was finally born (I have heard so many times from my mother what an awful birth she had with me, I didn't want to come out, nearly died, etc etc.) My dad found out I was a girl and promptly went to the pub - for two days, what all good alcoholics do. He never visited me, and didn't want that much to do with me .... ummmm, ever.

My mother left him on my fourth birthday after he threw a typewriter at her, in one of his many violent displays of affection. Every single memory I have of him, he's either angry at me or indifferent. Right up to the last time I saw him alive, when I was 12. He loved his twins ... but me? Meh. Prick - seriously, he missed out on knowing me, I'm a lovely person, rah rah .... but it still hurts, knowing how much I let him down. Mum has often told me over the years "If you had been a boy, Topcat, you would have saved my marriage. Hic." What - the fucked up violent marriage? Irony is, I am his spitting image, even down to his posture. And - I bet I could've drank the c*nt under the table. (Not now, but in my good bad old days).

So, I guess, to admit that I wouldn't mind a girl is perhaps a bit hypocritical of me. I mean, I keep having dreams that Monkey is a girl. During one of my sisters spiritual healing sessions, they reckon it is a girl too. (Our childhood was so bad, we need spiritual healing! I'm laughing - why do I find that funny?) So, the other week, the doc who did my amnio printed off all these 3d images of Monkey. I swear I can see a penis. But, I can also see two little horns on the forehead too - and I KNOW I haven't fucked the prince of darkness lately. When I thought I saw a penis I was disappointed .... but then relieved! Because I don't care what anyone says - but girls are often more emotional and higher maintenance than boys. Plus, I know Tiger would ADORE a baby brother. Bottom line is, I truly do not mind what sex Monkey is, as long as he/she is healthy. The massive difference between me and my 'dad' is that I believe that children are a blessing, whatever they turn out to be. He really missed out, that guy - ended up dying alone in his bed and got found with dozens of empty vodka bottles in his pokey little flat, at the age of around 45.

Mr TC's Clueless Example No. 2756:
Today I received a phonecall giving me the final ok from the doctors about the whole UNECESSARY amnio procedure I had. They fastrack results in one day, but still grow the cells over two weeks to identify any rogue chromosomes.
Me: "Hey hon, we got the all clear from the results."
Mr TC: "Oh right. So what did you end up doing? Did you donate them all?"
Me: Collapsed with laughter, realising that my preoccupied husband honestly thought I was talking about our frozen embryos.