This was meant to be yesterday's post but yesterday got in the way.
So, yesterday I went to the Centre Hospitalier to get an IRM pelvienne which in my fatigued state I failed to realise was an MRI (yes, let's put that bit of "d'oh" down to sleep deprivation and not an ingrained propensity to stupidity). Having an MRI is not very nice. They're quite good at warning you about most of the unpleasantness. The sense of claustrophobia at being squished into a tiny, brightly lit tunnel, the persistent drilling/siren noises (which kept making me think that the hospital was about to go into an air raid), the intense headache afterwards but they failed completely to warn me about the most deeply unpleasant part of the whole business. No. No warning. They just strapped me down, rammed a pair of earphones over my head and started to pipe in the soundtrack from Titanic . What twisted, malevolent, sorry excuse for a human being came up with that idea? Thankfully we didn't get as far as My Heart Will Go On. I would have been ready to press the emergency, "get me out of here now" button. Seeing my cyst glowing fluorescently on the screen was a bit frightening. It really is gigantic. On the bright side, I should lose a couple of inches from my waist when it comes out.
In other news, my lovely Nao sent me this little lot in the post yesterday. I love you Nao.
And for those of you following our sleeping habits. We aren't getting enough to call it a habit. The Monster woke at 3am and then refused to go back to bed. Recently I found baby like this:
The Monster brightly told me baby was sporting a joli chapeau. As long as she can continue to provide me with such moments of hilarity I'll keep her.