'Awfie Stout'

Well, I am not the poster I used to be. I post far less, I realise. This is okay, surely? Not posting is like keeping a yogurt at the back of the fridge that's a couple of days past it's 'sell by' date. You don't eat it and you don't throw it out either - just in case you might eat it. Inertia gains control of the yogurt - or, in this case, the blog.

I'm pleased to say I am now 32 weeks pregnant. Strangers like to pronounce on my physiology. I do not mind. I am not easily offended by this. Today one woman shouted, Oh, you're awfie stout, hen. I just know it's a boy. A teenage girl exclaimed to her pal - look at her, sooooo pregnant. I love pregnant people. A man in the swimming pool (73 with terrible teeth) bet me 10 pence it's a boy. 'Boy' is the general consensus from uninhibited street punters.

I feel as if it is a boy too - but, of course, I could be wrong. I said to a friend, I feel male energy and she laughed.

Mostly I feel fine, but recent blood tests show my platelets are low - this means my blood is thin and may not clot easily. How dare my blood start to whinge! Does it not know how far I have come to get here? Anyway, we are waiting to see a consultant about the wimpy platelet levels and I am trying to eat iron rich foods and stay cool and demure. I will stay out of street fights and bar room brawls.

-C