Week 18, Day 6 (Tips & tricks for geriatrics)

Fun is sitting in a hair dresser's chair for three and a half hours, getting cut, permed & streaked, then going home to your husband who reels in shock and whimpers that he should have taken a photo of your previously straggly self, as a fond remembrance of how his wife *should* look.

I think $80 for all that (including a bottle of magical hair product) is cheap (you wouldn't get 3 1/2 hours of work out of ME for a mere $80!) - Wayne of course thinks it's exhorbitant.

This from the man who gets me to run the hedgeclippers over his head and beard once a month because he's too tight to spring for a $10 haircut! Pooh.. what would he know ;-)

I should throw in some typos (deliberately, for a change) to reflect my newly blondness. Not horrifically blonde - just lightened up a lot on my natural mousy brown, to make a change from the dark chestnut I usually opt for this time of year.

The reason for the primp session was twofold: firstly, I was in dire need of some attention in the lovely locks department, and secondly, despite laughing off the "attacks" my age has received over the last few months, I was starting to wonder if I needed to take affirmative action.

The most enjoyable comment came from a mate, who responded to my horrified giggles about the 'dark ages' treatment my Mum received in the hospital while having me, responded (after a pregnant pause...)

But Karl... you are old!

Another pregnant pause while I took on board the truth of the statement, but during which the poor woman started to stammer out an apology. She realised I wasn't mad when I burst out laughing and agreed with her. Yep, it figures they used 'dark ages' medicine way back in '63!!!

Another extremely amusing incident happened a couple of weeks earlier, when it got back to me that apparently some of my sporting acquaintances are mortified that a fat old tart like me is having a baby. Never mind that the Chief Mortification Merchant is hardly in a position to throw stones at me for any of those reasons.. but one of the things I've learned in this pregnancy is that uninvited comments are people telling you about THEM, not about YOU. It's never about you, actually. Once you realise that, it's easy to shrug off all the dross with a grin and a wave.

We're off for the big scan tomorrow... I've been downplaying it heaps all week so that I hopefully don't repeat the sleepless night prior to the last scan, but now we're down to the final sleep (and seeing as I slept great last night), you betcha tonight will be a write-off.

Wayne's on his third night running where he's abandoned the bed for the couch, because he's too fitful to sleep. This is how he shows stress.

A better wife would get up with him, but I roll into the centre of the bed, sprawl like algae, and click my fingers for the dog to join me. Even that exhausts me ;-) He needn't have worried about his wriggling disturbing me last night... the bloody dog got the hiccups! Too funny :-)

So roll on tomorrow! Let's hope they let us record ****something***** and that all the news is good, AND that we find out Tadpole's sex! At least with this kid, if s/he's got their legs clamped together, I can always get a good kicking bout started by giving him/her a prod to wake them up.