I have just come from admiring my boobs in the mirror after a shower. Not that I think I’d be able to hold a pencil under them or anything quite as dramatic but there’s definitely more than a handful. More importantly though, I thought I’d let you know I’ve booked in for a scan next Tuesday afternoon – all set up by our dear father. I have a whole booklet telling me what they’ll be looking for. I skipped the part about sickle cell and haven’t yet got to the what it actually entails – I’m quite keen to go in without knowing and for it all to be a bit of a surprise apart from what I’ve seen on tv – cold gel smeared over a tummy, slightly shocked partner cowering nervously next to the bed and audible gasp when they see a blur on the screen which as untrained sonographers they’re meant to be able to recognise as a foetus. What I do know is the scan will date it and along with a blood test will be looking fora signs of downs syndrome, which I read does not run in families, so I’m feeling a bit more relaxed about it. Woo hoo.