OK where were we? Oh yes, 2nd midwife appointment. I went along as duly instructed, although I couldn't remember if I was meant to have wee'd in the tiny little pot I was given ages ago. So I didn't - I mean, who wants to carry their own piss around with them? You do? O...K.... thank you sir.

The husband came with me, dropped me off outside the doctor's surgery and went off to find a parking space. But he never returned. I sat in the window of the waiting room and watched every single person going up and down the road, not one of whom appeared to be the husband. Eventually (only about 15 minutes after my appointment time - they're really more just for the look of it, appointments, aren't they?) the midwife asked me to go in. She introduced herself to me, obviously not remembering that she'd been in my house the last time. When I pointed this out to her, she suddenly remembered who I was and what job I do and got all insistent about how they've improved birth notifications to the local health authority. I was happy to reassure her that I didn't give a monkey's. (I didn't actually say that).

She then asked me to go and wee on another flimsy plastic stick, and reprimanded me for not bringing some piss in the pot. Apparently I have to have some every time I "go to clinic" even though all she did was check the stick against the paint chart again. Why can't I just wee on a stick each time? The old stalwart, my blood pressure, was taken again, and she asked me if I'd felt "my baby" move at all. That was an odd phrase to hear. I don't really think of it as "my" anything, more "evil thrashing demon". Anyway - I had, and she wrote FMF down in my big book of what's wrong (or not) with me that they give you and you have to carry around for nine months (I forgot to mention that earlier - not only are you lugging around another person, you have this wodge of charts and notes and personal information that they always like looking at when you visit anyone medical, and which I always almost forget to bring). Then up on the bed whatsit, gut out and it's blue-jelly-listening-time, POW-POW-POW-POW still going strong.

Then she did something which, quite frankly, astounded me. She got a tape measure, like you'd use for measuring your waist, and stretched it from my bikini line up to a point which obviously meant something to her but which I failed to catch, and said "Oh yes, 25cm." Eh? What was the point of that?

Someone reckoned it's meant to be a way of telling how far gone I am, but she already knew that, so what did that bit of old housewives' nonsense tell her? In the 21st century?

That was pretty much it. I have to go back the week after New Year, and my antenatal classes start in January. She asked if the husband would be coming along to any, I said he probably would depending on his shifts, and she replied "Oh good, I'll be able to do a Caesarean on him." Yerrsss. I'm noticing that everything is, just ever so slightly, getting more and more surreal, and I'm expected to behave as if it isn't...

When I came out, still no sign of the husband. I eventually found him parked down the road listening to the radio in the car. His explanation was that it took a while to find a parking space, it was probably very boring, and he didn't want to come in. Fair enough.

We bought a Baby Record Book from Mothercare the other day, it is the same picture as this one

except it says Baby Record Book. We are going to write rude things in for the sicky bits that say things like "This is how we felt when we saw you for the first time:"

I got measured for a maternity bra the other day, but I had to go back and change them because they didn't fit. Well done Mothercare. It's probably something fairly self-explanatory, but little hint for next time - the bra goes underneath the clothes, so you have to measure someone there, not over the top of a jumper. It's my fault really, I was expecting you to know what you're doing. Tsk. I have to admit, the reason I went was because a sister-in-law frightened me by saying her midwife told her that it was really important to have a proper maternity bra, or you'd end up with spaniels' ears later on, and her bosom is doing very nicely after four kids, so I went with it.

Last thing before I go tonight - the husband was laughing the other night. When I asked him what at, he said "You - stomping around with your pot belly sticking out."