For my American readers, Kerri-Anne is something of an Australian talk-show institution; I think she could possibly have been on air for a good twenty years, and not having seen her in the previous eight, I’d say that with the help of a couple of surgeons, she is managing to look quite the same as she did back then.
Not that we had anything to do with her this morning when we arrived earlier than someone who stays up till one to try and see their husband should really ever been seen in public. But the professional hair and makeup stylists took care of that and we were off to try on the outfits. The other three models were significantly more pregnant than I, but I had done my best by eating a massive bowl of porridge, two pieces of raisin toast and two cups of de-caf tea. The stylist had a range of outfits, and I have to say, I’m glad now I was as un-pregnant as I was. One super cute lady was forced into a pair of hot pink stockings, an un-ironed black cowl neck baby doll dress and 4 inch wedge heels a little too big so that she nearly took a dive down the red carpet they rolled out for us on set. She looked like a drunk pink smurf. One of the other ladies was in a checkered coat and white pants, which I thought were banned in winter time and the other lady nearly came to blows with the stylist over another pair of death wedges she wanted her to wear. She was nice to me though, and leant over and touched my nipples every time they popped out while we waited on the freezing set. This is her third baby, and I think you must lose any sense of propriety by then.
By the time the stylist got to me, she abandoned the wedge idea entirely, wacked me in the dress you see right here and made a point to announce on television that I was only four months pregnant. Not only did they pay me of course, but I scored the earrings too. Which is great as I always admire other people’s big earrings but never buy them for myself.
All in all, an excellent morning’s work I would say. I stayed on my feet, looked in the camera, didn’t hit the furniture and mad it off set without incident. A career in maternity modeling is really just around the corner.
From there, I dashed home, shoved a second breakfast down my throat, grabbed Gregory and headed to the hospital for our first antenatal visit. We heard the peanut’s heart beat again – 150 beats per minute, which is right on target apparently – and the midwife ssaid that by 26 weeks we might be able to hear it at home with the use of an old toilet roll. Don’t think we won’t be trying that folks. I’ll let you know how it goes. Gave a bit of blood, had a bit of a check for blood pressure and Gregory was kicked out so the midwife could ask me some personal questions. The answers to which I’d be willing to expose right here on this blog, (which tells you right now what kind of a Sandra Dee life I’ve had) and when she asked if I’d ever had an STD I answered no and then asked her if I had, would it have effected the baby or the labour. She replied “typically no, not if it is treated, but a lot of women are unaware they have them and a small percentage of women reply that they think their husband is having an affair, which results in a barrage of tests to determine if any disease has been contracted and if antibiotics are needed for the mother or baby’s care.” Isn’t that dreadful. What a horrible reality to be faced with.
She then told me to replace my recent ice cream habit with yoghurt, (I mean really, yoghurt is for breakfast, ice cream is for late night indulgences, and they are not interchangeable) and we were sent on our merry-not-showing-yet-pregnant-way.
I had mentioned earlier in this blog (back when it was about running a marathon and not incubating a human) that my American husband was really struggling with Australian ice cream, and I have to concede, he’s right. It’s rubbish. I think they use jersey cows with eating disorders. There is nothing creamy about Australian ice cream. But last week, Gregory went online, found a Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream supplier, called them, begged then to stay open an extra ten minutes just so he could get there in time and came home with four punnets of one of humankind’s greatest achievements. Those punnets are no longer with us, but every delectable, delicious bite of Americone Dream and Half-Baked goodness was well worth the outrageous twelve bucks a punnet it cost.
There are a few items I truly miss from the States. Ice cream (obviously) half and half is another (it is half milk and half cream and can turn a bad 90 cent cup of charred, acrid New York City coffee into a passable tasting beverage) and Wheat Thins are a third. They are, in terms of reputation and household popularity, like the Australian Jatz. Everybody knows them, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t like them and you can eat an entire box in one sitting and enjoy every carby, starchy, slightly salty taste. Peanut butter and Jam is now one of my favourite toppings for toast (though it has to be jam and not that pretend grape jelly they prefer over there) and the iconic green bean casserole served in every American household for Thanksgiving, is truly a pre-packaged marvel. Frozen beans, a cup of cream of mushroom soup, a packet of fried onions on top and you’ve got one of the tastiest of winter dishes. Easy to make, cheap too and laden with enough sodium to fill a small ocean.
All this talk of food has me starving…again, seems to be a running theme this week, so I must be off to see what I can find to fill the peanut and me up. So long blogees, thanks for reading.