Captain's log

"Pregnancy...The Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the Word, mother of Almost One. Her 9 month mission: to explore strange new cakes, to seek out new thresholds of pain and new dimensions of discomfort, to boldly go where no male of the species has ever had the misfortune or privilige to go to before..."

I'm depressed. I'm betw 8-9 weeks pregnant. Sick as a drunken old sea dog who has lost its sea legs and as dizzy as a mile high trolley dolly on PCP.

If I know that Almost One's (AO) legs and arms are growing and that it is beginning to respond to light and sound, then it finally begins to feel worth all the narcolepsy, the sleeplessness, indigestion and general abject misery!!! And so, I regularly feed my due date into the MotherNet to get the low-down on the cellular development of AO to sharpen my focus and curb my anger at being thus shackled.

Weirded out: it said on the IHS (Intergalactic Health-direct-to-panic-misinformation-government head control-Site) that its tail, yes, TAIL, is now shrinking - I don't want to know that they have tails! yuck! - and that its vital organs are forming - phew! Glad they had no pictures. They'd probably be like those identi-fit un-looky-likey portraits that you get on Crimewatch, so better off without them!!!

My dreams continue to be imbued with a sense of foreboding or rather, anticipation, but of a deeply primeval kind and not at all threatening or menacing in anyway. Strange. My brain is rejecting any nightmare that bumps its shark-like hammer head against the armed glass of my sturdy maternal psyche. There is power in the galaxy of Motherhood. No one tells you. Its a secret. And if all those craven explorers of the uterine kind knew this, would they delve so deep?