"But they said come with a full bladder!"
"Yes, but it takes less than a litre to fill your bladder, especially if you've just had four glasses of orange juice with breakfast."
"But it might not be full enough and we might not be able to see anything."
"Fine, but don't go moaning on to me when we're on our way that you need a piss desperately and are in pain."
Forty five minutes later...
"Ow. Owowowowowow. Can't....walk...properly."
"Ha! I told you so. Look, there's a public loo there."
"DON'T TAUNT ME."
Also known as Incident 8494 In Which I Am Wrong, it turned out that my bladder was so full that it was impossible to see whether I had a uterus at all, let alone find out if there was definitely something floating in it. The sonographer (who turned out not to be a member of the Bee Gees, and in fact wasn't even the mysterious Dr. Gibb who probably earns enough not to have to come in on Saturdays) let me go and relieve myself ("THANK YOU SO MUCH!") and then got down to business.
Sadly, the scanner's broken, so I can't show you all the 10mm embryo that's inside me, with a heartbeat that we heard and everything. In my current emotional state the fact that the scanner is broken is enough to send me into a wailing heap, and the only answer is M&S choocolate cornflake bites.
Mmmm, cornflakes.
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