9 October 2010


And then there's the "scan" thing.

Now mostly people don't share what the scan teaches them. Because it would challenge the orthodoxies of childbirth. And it might put some off.

But I'm going to.

It is as clear as day that by the time 12 weeks have passed and you can see a completely human-shaped human (which is the size of a fig) that what is happening here is not complicated.

Listen carefully.

Or read carefully, more properly. Sigh.

What's going on is this: women's bodies are acting as teleport chambers for humans that are being beamed naked across the multiverse (naked like in Terminator Two).

The reason they're that small is because it takes some time (nine months or so) for them to fully beam through.

It's a bit like a TV or radio signal getting stronger. Kind of like that whole Mike Teavee bit in the chocolate factory.

(I will not do any chocolate factory/pregnancy jokes at this point, nor at any other).

So that's the truth: Human. Beamed across space. Teleport chambers. Signal strength.

Well it makes more fucking sense than the explanation we use now!

When I write that "people don't share what the scan teaches them", I actually mean men, obviously.

8 October 2010

Funny thing, instinct. It looks exactly like guesswork

Anyway, at the moment we(e) realised that what we had been calling "the project" had (cough) successfully launched (cough) we both had an immediate, instinctive idea that we would be expecting a hegraph.

Dunno why. Just did.

This was strange as I have always been convinced before, that were I ever to be graph to a graphite it would be a shegraph.

So much so that I have discussed with Mrs Graph my reluctance to indulge in those awful undermining behaviours that seem to accompany so much girl-raising currently. Pink clothing, not as an option but as a constant. Nothing but stereo-typical girl toys and dolls, bland Disney songs, Bratz, faux-Yank accents brought on by those sickly twins and worst of all the bloody "Princess on Board" signs.

I fucking hate those.

"If I ever have a daughter", I announced one day, after Mrs Graph parked the car next to one, "I'll want a 'Future Labour Leader On Board' sign", I declared.

"How about just not having a sign", she replied.

7 October 2010

Marathon bar...

Anyway, my mother - grand-graph as it were - was told about graphite quite early. It was one of those moments where only the words "besides herself" properly explain her reaction.

We didn't tell anyone else for weeks after that. Mrs Graph thought we should wait until after she'd run her marathon.

She thought people would fret.

1 October 2010



Here's a thing. Mrs Graph is with graphite.


We have known this for about eight weeks. This is terrific. Terrific. I am still shocked. I mean, not because it's a surprise. It isn't. It was planned and a deliberate decision and all that. But because, well.... fucking hell!!

At this moment graphite is apparently the size of a plum; about twelve weeks. Mrs Graph peed on a stick several weeks ago. It was supposed to take three minutes to give a result. She hadn't even finished the peeing when a cry came from the other side of the bathroom door, "I haven't finished yet and it's already told me the result!"

Me - "Really!? What is it?"