The wife squatter turned twenty five weeks old yesterday.
By all accounts, it now weighs just short of 2lbs, or just under a kilo for those of you who are, well, Dutch.
All the wee bugger’s organs are present and correct. I now have a fully qualified donor match! It’s kind of like having your own vegetable patch.
I do jest of course, something I seemingly must explicitly express for those among us who’ve had transplants of their own of a humourous variety.
Anyway, all the baby’s bits and pieces are in place, its skin doesn’t look like greaseproof paper anymore, and it even has wee tooth buds forming in its gums. Hopefully it’s listening to me whispering at it in the dead of night to come out biting when it does arrive.
All junior needs to do now, is grow. Sit back on its mother’s bladder with its feet up on her spleen, gorge itself on amniotic fluid, and just grow. Grow, grow, and grow some more.
You have the hard part done kiddo, now you just got to do what comes naturally to those unfortunate genes of yours, get chubby.
After 25 weeks, take off the boil, and simmer for 15 more.