Scarle' fer ya!

I really didn't know where to put this story. It happened in the waiting room of the maternity hospital, so it could have gone under the Insomniac Baby banner. It involved a group of society that I don't have a lot of time for, so it could legitimately have been posted on the Insomniac Shit List. In the end, I decided it wasn't a tale I'd like to associate with my happy pregnancy and nor could I easily categorise it for the Shit List, so here it is, on the Tirade:

I was sitting in the waiting room of the maternity hospital for a few hours yesterday. It was really busy and lots of people were taking and making phone calls to say "I'm still waiting. I've been here for hours." The waiting room was incredibly busy and there were stacks of people waiting for visiting hours to begin aswell, so the whole place was jammers.

There was a young couple - aged anywhere between 16 and 20, their skin was too bad to be able to tell - sitting beside me on the benches in the waiting area, who had been getting streams of phone calls (about four or five each) all day. They'd had essentially the same conversation with each caller: "Naaah! I'm stiiill bleedin' waitin'..." or "Naaaah! We're stiiill bleedin' waitin' ta be seen by de dooooctor, bud..."

Eventually, she went in and was out again after 10 or 15 minutes. "Y'aaal righ'?" says he. She replied at the top of her voice, in the middle of the crowded room: "Yeah. I'm grand. 'S only de trush."

"Oh, my God!", I thought to myself. "I can't believe that you've just yelled that out in front of everyone. I am absolutely mortified on your behalf."

"Ah, just de trush?", says the boyfriend loudly, to be heard over the din of the waiting visitors. "Ah, jaysus, dat's alrigh' den."

"Oh, my God!", I thought to myself. "I can't believe that you've just yelled that out in front of everyone. I am absolutely mortified on your behalf."

Then, one by one, the girl begins to return the phone calls of her concerned parents and friends: "How'r'ya Ma! 'Sgrand. 'Sjust de trush!"; "How'r'ya Concepteh. Yeah, 'sgrand. 'Sjust de trush!"; "How'r ya Angeleh. Jaysus! 'S de bleedin' trush!"

At this stage I was beginning to wish that they would either vacate the bench beside me and leave the waiting room, or failing that, the the ground would open up and swallow me. I didn't think it could get any worse. I was wrong.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and starts dialling. "How'r'ya Ma? Yeah, she's grand. 'Sjust de trush!"

Enough! In the parlance of our maternity hospital waiting rooms, "Jaysus! I'm bleedin' scaaaaarle' fer yez!"

It all started innocently enough

It was all fairly innocent to begin with. Gerry, who misses us terribly and wants to feel like he’s still part of our family even though he now lives a couple of hundred miles away, sent us a copy of this article about a dumb-ass couple who named their son Drew Peacock (say it out loud and quickly a couple of times – you’ll get it).

This is the e-versation that followed…

Gerry: Ideas for Mr Murnane Jr... (Drew Peacock article)
Sinéad: yeah, I don't think so...
Gerry: Drew Peacock Murnane? I think it has a certain ring to it. Come on, its almost like calling the kid Jim
Conor: Hahaahaha.
Sinéad: yeah, still no...
Conor: Dirk, Al, Joe, Konrad, Rico, Tyler, Pancrazio (I really like this), Pious, Agbatha, Duff, Abbadon, Dagobert, Ahitophel, Tatnai, Ur, Krisna, Pancho, Dallas, Parker, Yan, Bob, Dagget, Constantine
Gerry: I really don't like to question this, but are you sure you should have kids? The list of names seems a bit cruel. The kid;s gonna get his ass kicked each and every day. I think Sue is probably a better option. And how do you pronounce Pancrazio?
Sinéad: Please leave my unborn child alone, you mean bastards. Joe is off the list, by the way
Gerry: How about Michael Badly Murnane. Then all the girls will be after them... Think about it a while...
Sinéad: Ok, I give up. I don't mind admitting when I'm defeated - I don't get it...

(I’ve lost the next bit of the conversation – the strands split a little here. The upshot was that all the girls want Mickey Badly… Conor brings us back with a bit of Blankety Blank (an eighties game show))

Conor: Clint after Clint Cassidy. After all, he was probably the product of some____
Sinéad: The answer had better not be "some cow from Montana"
Conor: 150 blanks. Fooling around during Doc
Sinéad: y'know, we could always go a bit Posh'n'Becks with this and name him Blanchardstown, or Sofa
Gerry: Not The Sofa™ that every time you left Jim there he sat there naked with the cat on his lap, lad in one hand and jay in the other? And as for what he did there with the mars bars… The poor kid.
Sinéad: Could be worse, Gerry - we might want to call the child "Gerry's Pillow (Both Sides) Murnane"
Gerry: Krusty Murnane?
Conor: Was away from my desk doing some work. My, the conversation has progressed. Sin, let’s have a dinner party, drink some of that vino. How does the first weekend in December sound?
Sinéad: Sounds wonderful - would sound even more wonderful if *I* could drink some of that vino too...

(I’m missing the next bit, where the possibility of getting Jim and his missus out of Cork and up to Dublin for a weekend this side of Christmas is discussed)

Gerry: You should do, Jim has been talking of heading to Dublin. I'm trying to change Barcelona to that week tho.
Conor: Sin, you can drink some vino. Two glasses only. No more. No sirree. Gerry, does that mean you'll be entertaining Mrs.Conor next weekend? Could reschedule dinner to second week in December? Or this weekend coming?
Gerry: I’m hoping to entertain Mrs Conor next weekend. If by “entertain”, you mean let her sit there and watch me smoke grass all weekend. The thing with Barcelona is it’s a Saturday to Saturday job, so its most of 2 weekends gone. I’ll let you know once I have dates for it. Is Mr Conor coming down to help me entertain Mrs Conor? Or should I be prepared to show her what a Real Man™ is like? (Only happy to do so, got shit loads of ironing to give her)

So, you may wonder why on earth I thought you’d be interested in reading a conversation I had yesterday. I was really just looking for your sympathy votes. D’ya see what I have to put up with from my friends? Supportive, my arse!

Insomniac ShitList: Public Transport

Item Six (added 9 November 2004)
This could go under so many headings that it really was a tough choice...
You bastards who smoke on the bus really give me a pain in my tits. This morning there were two of you and you were incredibly abusive to the man who asked you if you really couldn't wait the few minutes till you got off the bus before you lit up. Then one of you filthy scrotes started to blow your cigarette smoke over me. When I asked you to please not, I suppose I should give you the credit that's due because you stopped (blowing smoke over me, not smoking). But then you both proceeded to have a loud conversation about how the abused man and I would never last on the #38 bus if we were so offended by a little bit of smoking.
This begged the question, Why didn't you just take the damn #38 this morning then, you morons? Then you'd have been able to share some needles to shoot up your early morning heroin, died of an overdose and everyone would have been happy...

Item Five (added 15 October 2004)
It was on my list, but I'm very glad to see that it's not just me who finds this unbearable. People, turn your walkman down. I don't need to hear your music. I don't want to hear your music. Mostly, I hate your music. If I'm listening to my walkman, I don't want to still be able to hear yours. Ditto, for when I'm sitting three rows behind you on the other side of the bus. Ditto, forever. Ditto, for all circumstances. I am hormonally unbalanced enough to break one day and make you eat it. I believe that battery acid is very bad for you

Item Four (added 14 October)
Having worked out an approximate arrival/departure schedule for your bus, it is very useful if the driver has an approximate idea of the route he (because it normally is a he) is supposed to take. As you can see, this is a problem that specifically affects people who take the bus, rather than train or tram commuters. That is because trains and trams travel along tracks, which do not usually encourage independent directional decisions from the driver. While this may not be very empowering, at least you know you'll be taken where you're supposed to go

Item Three (added 14 October 2004)
You might think that having lived in Ireland my whole life, I would be accustomed to the rather spurious correlation between timetables and the actual arrival/departure time of the [insert chosen mode of public transport here]. You would be wrong. Though there has been some headway made in this regard recently, there is still vast room for improvement (as immortalised by the "We're not there yet, but we're getting there" ad campaign). While I find it irritating enough when the [mode of transport] is late, it really pisses me off when the bloody thing is early. Grrr

Item Two (added 13 October 2004)
The selfish bitch that I sat beside on the bus this morning. I hope that her bag was comfortable on its own seat. What the hell was she carrying in there? Live organs for transplant???

Item One (added 11 October 2004)
People who prop their knees up on the back of the seat in front of them. It really hurts the person in front's back

Insomniac Baby: Just for Kicks

For the past few days, I've been feeling slightly achy in the belly region. Mostly, I put this down to growing pains and internal bruising from kicks that I can't feel.

Last night, I finally felt a proper kick. Though to be honest, at first I thought it was some sort of weird in-my-belly-fart. It felt like the way your mouth goes when you use your finger to make a 'pop' noise. Then it happened again and I said to myself "Eh-up! I'll bet I know what that is!"

I called out to Conor so that he could join in with the feeling of bonding and impending parenthood (I was in bed, he was watching telly). He couldn't hear what I was saying to him and rather than come in and find out, I had to get up out of bed and flounce (yes, I flounced) into the sittingroom.

"The baby's started kicking. I just felt him", I said.
"Oh? That's exciting", he replied, without moving his eyes from the TV screen.
"Yeah, just now... there he goes again!"

At last, I got a reaction. Conor started to laugh: apparently, the guys on 'The Panel' were being very funny last night.

Guess what I did last night...

Before your little eyes light up with the anticipation of some rude internet stuff, it's nothing kinky.

I made a fly. For fishing with. It had lots of sticky-out flarey bits, it was really small and finiky and it was incredibly good fun.

I should have taken a picture of what it looked like and what it ought to have looked like to allow comparison, but that might detract from my sense of personal victory. Perhaps I'll do another tonight and I'll post pictures tomorrow?

Insomniac Baby: Say "Hello" to Frank

Finally, I've got my act together and can now share the latest pictures of the Insomniac Baby with you all:



This one shows the head (on the right) and belly (on the left). If you use your imagination, you can see little arms and the shadowy bits on the front of the head are (according to the midwife) his eyes.

This second scan shows the baby looking straight out (though he is lying on his side - the top of his head is on the left of the picture):



Personally, I don’t think that this is the best look for my baby. The resemblance to Frank the Rabbit from the movie Donnie Darko is too close for comfort…

Insomniac Baby: Naming Conventions

So now the arduous task of picking a name for our son begins. Frank really isn’t an option. I would also like to take this opportunity to rule out Jim (though James may still be a runner), Gerry (Gerard doesn’t make the cut either, I’m afraid) and Dirk (Karel, how could you?).

I am inviting suggestions but there are a few ground rules to cover before we embark down this road:

• The name has got to fit well with the surname “Murnane” (pronounced mur-nan for those of you who think that doofus on RTE2’s news says his name properly!)
  
• Preferably, the name should not begin with the letter M. This rule may be waived in the event that the first rule is satisfied
  
• The name should neither end with the letter M, nor a combination of letters that rhymes with "an" or "ane"
  
• Conor reserves the right to veto any name that meets the requirements of rules 1, 2 and 3 above without having to give any reason
  
• I reserve the right to veto any name that meets the requirements of rules 1, 2, 3 and 4 above without having to give any reason
  
• I reserve the right to change the rules without prior notice or warning
  

Suggestions can go into the comments box. There will not be a bottle of wine for the commenter who suggests a name that we use!

Insomniac Baby: It's a BOY!

I had my second scan yesterday. It was great! The midwife pretended to be vague when we asked whether we were having a boy or a girl but a few moments later, she pointed the scanner contraption appropriately and there were definite boy-bits in evidence. So, with “95%” certainty (and a cover-your-ass-margin of 5%), we’re having a boy! Hurray! Just one! Hurray!

This scan was much more fun that the first because there was so much more to see: there was a head (very large – he gets that from his father) and a face, arms and legs (very long – he gets those from me), fingers and toes, and as mentioned a penis and scrotum. Seriously.

The mini-menace is now almost 21cm long – his head measures 4cm across and his thighs are nearly 3cm long (each). He was tumbling and kicking and moving like crazy. I’m really surprised and at the same time, so glad that I can’t feel that yet, though apparently I will start to in the next couple of days or weeks.

The bummer of this was that, unlike last time, you couldn’t see all of him at once on the screen, so the images were a bit like a jigsaw that you had to put together in your head.

Anyway, I haven't got the pictures ready for posting yet - they'll go up in the next couple of days...