Dear Tangy
You have accompanied Mom and Dad on many concert adventures this year in our ongoing quest to see our favourite bands, and you will thus be born into the world as a real ‘metal baby’. Naturally, we will not dictate your music choice – unless boy bands and Beyonce (now block that name from your mind) appear on the list. Okay, so maybe we will be a little bit dictatorial. In fact, whilst waiting in the queue to watch 30 Seconds To Mars last night your Dad and I had an argument about who will accompany you to concerts if the bands you like are ‘lame’ (in our expert opinion of course). Your Dad says that there is no way that he is going with you to a Britney Spears or Atomic Kitten concert (now block those names from your mind) but here’s a little piece of advice: your Dad already refers to you as his Amelia and if you just bat your eyelids he will accompany you to whatever show you like (don’t tell him I told you). I am happy to take you to see ‘lame’ bands as long as you pay for my ticket. Little Tangy: the essential point is that we just want you to love music as much as we do. And we can’t wait to tell you about all of the fun you had in my tummy as you succumbed to the comfort of your amniotic fluid and the vibrations of double-bass drumming whilst Mom and Dad lived some dreams. Here’s a morsel to keep you satiated in the meantime: Read the rest of this entry »
A month today … or earlier … or later – who knows? CRAP! The uncertainty is killing me. I just want to get this giving birth thing out of the way. I am feeling petrified and paranoid. Petrified of the pain and paranoid that something will be wrong with my baby girl. If I am completely honest with myself, I think that I will be able handle a deformed baby but I can’t handle a retarded one. The ‘what if’ game is seriously dangerous but I find myself playing it irrespective. One minute I am excited to meet my daughter and the next minute I am thinking about brain damage, down’s syndrome, episiotomies and third-degree tears. 
Yesterday was our last scan appointment. The scanographer said it looks like my wonky umbilical cord is not impeding Amelia’s growth so there is no need for any more scans. I am most glad because I do not like being gelled-up and poked with that proboscis-on-a-cord-thing but I will miss seeing our baby girl on live TV. The coolest part of yesterday’s scan was seeing Amelia’s little skull and face, and her hair. Warren and I had a ‘debate’ about the size of her lips later in the day: he says they are small, I say they are lusciously pouty – I guess we will find out in five weeks. Yes Diary! FIVE WEEKS. It’s pure madness. 
Dad and I have come up with the coolest nickname for you. And it has stuck for two weeks, which means that it is a keeper. At your 32 week scan, the Scanographer confirmed that even though I have a wonky umbilical cord, you are looking beautiful and are growing very well. As usual, we received a report that shows a number of measurements; each based on a scale that represents the mean values for babies – the report shows where you sit for each of those measurements. According to the report, you have a rather large belly and long arms, which Daddy and I found it hysterically funny because it made us both think of monkeys. So now you have a new nickname: Tangy – short for Orangutan. Your Uncle Alastair looks kind of like an Orangutan and he even has what we like to call the ‘red gene’, so maybe you will look like him. I can’t wait to find out!
I am so not a diary person. I tried to keep a diary when I was in high school because it was the cool thing to do at the time and I had probably been watching too many episodes of Dawson’s Creek – yes dear diary, I watched Dawson’s Creek with the unashamed vigour of a thirteen-year-old. Sadly, unlike Joey Potter, I had nothing to say and the whole exercise bored me very quickly. But now, fourteen years later, I’m back. Here’s why: I have this insane idea that the next time I am seven weeks away from pushing a baby out of my vag I will look back on my ‘Dear Diary’ entries for some words of wisdom. Okay … I am now laughing at myself. Wisdom? NEXT TIME? Yup. It’s true. I am certifiable. To my future self: there will be no words of wisdom but I do promise to keep it real – that is something I am good at. 
