Subscribe: Subscribe to me on YouTube

Sunday, July 06, 2008


Don't tell anyone, but... it's a girl!

Blowing her own trumpet.And she's already learning to play the flute like her Auntie.

Lisa was 27 weeks pregnant yesterday (to be honest, she still is today) and with this week being the 60th birthday of the NHS, what better way to celebrate than by going private for a 4D baby scan. It's like a regular scan, but in four dimensions. The fourth being money.

We chose Peekaboo in Crawley because their prices seemed slightly less exhorbitant than most, and having seen the people who operate Brighton's only 4D scanner at last month's Baby Expo, we decided we didn't want to pay more than two hundred pounds to be scanned by a girl who spends all her time yawning, pouting and checking her nails.

So we went to Crawley instead. And it turned out to be an excellent decision. Crawley is nowhere near as creepy as you might think,Wind-up Marchant and Paul Marchant, the guy behind Peekaboo, spent eighteen years working for the same NHS trust as me, so we're practically colleagues. Though he wouldn't give me a discount. He did seem to know exactly what he was doing though, and he even made us a cup of tea.

Joining us for this jaunt into the fourth dimension was my mother. We needed to exchange cars again, and meeting in Crawley seemed a better option than her driving into Brighton on a summer Saturday, so we invited her along. She delivered my car back to me fully serviced and cleaned, with a brand new windscreen and a full tank of petrol. I handed her car back vandalised. I'd walked out of my flat yesterday morning to find that someone had ripped off one of the wing mirrors and left it dangling by the kerbside. You've got to admire strength like that.

Anyhoo (sorry Kristy), having parked in different car parks so that my Mum wouldn't spot the damage, we successfully rendezvoused outside McDonalds in Crawley town centre, and made our way to Peekaboo. The scan lasted about forty-five minutes and was completely marvellous. Frankly it's the best £150 (plus VAT) I've ever spent. We got photos, a CD of still images, and a DVD of the whole scan, plus a photo frame, and the best news of all: "it's 100% girl".

It's a girl!
Lisa was very keen to have a girl, and I've always felt that if you're going to raise a child to be a millionaire sports star who can make you rich within twenty years, then women's tennis is the field to go for. It's so much less competitive than the men's game.

So we left Peekaboo happy, and headed straight to Mothercare to look at Moses baskets. We then waved goodbye to my mother... only to wave hello again twenty minutes later when she found I'd left my glasses in her car. After lunch, during which Lisa prepared me for having a baby by spilling chocolate ice cream all down her front, we headed straight back to Brighton to spread the good news.

First stop was Lisa's sister, who not only had to see the photos, but was also forced to sit through the DVD. As Nephew Number Two said, "This is so boring". Mind you, he also said our daughter looked like a piggy, so frankly he was lucky not to have been sent out of the room. The news that we're having a girl was greeted with much excitement by Lisa's sister, and a huge sigh of disappointment from her three nephews, all of whom were rooting for a boy. I'm hoping for a better reaction from my niece.

We left Portslade with a car seat and a cot (I do love a good freebie), and drove over to Lisa's aunt and uncle, who were having an afternoon nap and refused to get out of bed, despite Lisa ringing the doorbell twice. So instead we had to make do with her mother. Only twenty-four hours earlier, Lisa's Mum had told her that it's definitely a boy, and "I can't see you with a girl at all", so she was pleased. She even liked the background music on the DVD.

As for my family, they got the news by text message and e-mail. My brother hasn't responded (he always takes a good week to mull over a text message), but Big Sis got straight back to me with these words:

"Excellent! I have someone else I can be a role model for".

So give it a few years and we'll have a daughter who hides from bears, kills kangeroos, and wants to fly to Mars.