Just quickly - I'd like to guess that the subtitle there will bother the brain of Lou-Bee, by causing her to want to say "Placenta of Mischief, you take away the sins of the world..."*, as this is what she seems to want to add to sentences with that kind of structure. I know that "Slug of Mystery" causes problems in her head. Lou - my placenta will take away the sins of the world, and shall also have mercy on you. Oh yes it shall.

*You need to either be Catholic or have endured a few years at a Catholic School. We went to a Catholic School together, including many many many compulsory masses. Masses which we took seriously, playing games such as 'Count the Monks' and 'Spot the Bishop'. Come on, there aren't many ways to make mass fun.

Ok. So. Anyway.

SCAN OF ANNOYANCE ("you take away the sins"...oh ok I'll stop it...)

Firstly, baby was feeling mischevious and did a frog impression, crossing its little legs and fidgeting so as to hide its rude bits and prevent the sonographer from getting any measurements. Froglike baby. Mischevious baby.

We were sent away so that I could have a wee and have a hot drink (as hot drinks make babies wriggle - hey, I wasn't imagining it!!), and then had to come back and try again.

Had Wriggle wriggled? Yes, Wriggle had. Had Wriggled wriggled into a helpful position? No, Wriggle had not. He/she did help out the sonographer by allowing her to take measurements, look at brain, count kidneys etc...but still felt that the "My Fair Lady" approach to keeping your legs shut is the best, even in utero.

WRIGGLE - YOU WILL NEVER BE A SUCCESSFUL PORNSTAR IF YOU WILL NOT ALLOW US TO LOOK AT, LET ALONE PHOTOGRAPH, YOUR BITS!!

And, just for fun, I have a low placenta. My placenta is chilled. Too chilled.

This means that we have to check at 36 weeks to see if the placenta (I'm really starting to like that word..."p.l.a.c.e.n.t.a"....) has moved away from my cervix, as if it is still "blocking the exit*" I'll have to have a c-section. Also, for added hilarity, Alex and I can't have sex AT ALL.

Wriggle, seriously. I can't drink (no Baileys over Christmas for me). I can't smoke (weed is languishing in kitchen drawer). I can't eat runny eggs (chicken periods are going wasted). I can't have pate (I didn't actually want pate until I found out I couldn't have it...but still). I can't go jogging (but why would I want to?). I can't have hot baths (for it is bad to turn baby into boil in the bag. Not that Wriggle is a boil and I am a bag, but you know what I mean). I can't eat chocolate mousse (oh God, why is there so much beautiful mousse** around right now??) AND NOW I CAN'T HAVE SEX UNTIL AROUND JUNE!!! Wriggle - I have no life!! Please, Wriggle of awkwardness, you take away the life of Kate, have mercy!

*I don't appreciate having my ladygarden referred to as "THE EXIT". My body is no longer my body...my body is completely devoted to baby, to the extent that my vagina is "the exit" and I am sure that my breasts will become "Milk Producers".

**Beautiful mousse, not Beautiful Moose.

I'm off. There may be more later. You have been warned.