So, it is with some trepidation and not a small amount of internal glee that I announce that Himself needs to go for further tests. You know what that means don't you? A small camera. A smaller entrance. A cystoscopy in fact.
And that gleeful little part of me, the one counting: laparoscopies... labours... caesarean sections... colposcopy... smears... forceps... episiotomy... that little part is sitting in a corner almost wetting herself with laughter.
"Oh no.. he doesn't want anaesthetic! This is a productive pain. We want to do it naturally, don't we darling??!" I'm actually wondering if the doctor would let me hold the camera.
Of course the trepidation part is gloomy and pessimistic. The little drama queen inside us all (please not just me!) who is trying to intervene with worst case scenarios. I'm trying very hard to ignore that bit and just continue imagining Himself. With a camera. Shoved up his bits. Mwah-ha-ha!