Er/sie warten

Still no sign of the nipper. Nothin’. I’m goin’ absolutely stir crazy. I just hate waitin’.
“Why are you always late then?” Jenny asked me over breakfast.
“Because I hate waitin’.”
“How does that work?” she wondered.
“If I’m late I don’t have to wait at all, do I?”
I guess the nipper feels the same.

Even Jenny’s getting antsy. The mother-to-be found more windows to clean, actually looked forward to going grocery shopping today, and we’ve taken to fighting over whose turn it is to do the washing up. “It’s my turn.” Every pipe has been painted, carpet hoovered, floor mopped – the Wohnung has never been cleaner.

The hanging around is unbearable. We’ve been watchin’ films to kill the time, and I’ve discovered the shocking truth about Tom and Jerry in Germany. Tom und Jerry have a different theme tune to the one we all know and love, with some shameless impostor singing “Danke für die Blumen...” Thanks for the flowers! Nothing to do with Tom or Jerry, or any cat or mouse for that matter. Blasphemy is all it is. Poor old Tom would be turning in his grave if he heard it. A scurrilous scandal of sacrilegious proportions – no wonder the child is reluctant to check out the world.

There wasn't a peep from the ever-growing belly at the doctor's on Monday. They hooked it up to a machine so we could listen to the inhabitant’s heartbeat. Everything cool, everything normal, everything totally relaxed. It sounded like it was galloping around on a little horse, but the gallops were regular and it didn't seem to be in any hurry to gallop out. It seems we could be in for the long haul.