A leprechaun who got caught in a forest fire.

So I know the posts have been few and far between lately, which means that I’ve also yet to update the readers on a major piece of news.

Frankie is going to be a big sister.

My wife is about half way through the pregnancy, and a few weeks ago we had our 12 week scan. This is when they offer those fandangled ‘3D scans’ that some people rave about. And I will personally attest, for any expecting parents out there reading this, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND getting a 3D scan. That is, if you would like to imagine that your child was designed by Wes Craven.

I mean, seriously, I can’t be the only one who thinks they looks like something out of a Japanese horror film. Either that or there are folks out there getting genuinely excited about picturing their unborn child as one of H.R Geiger’s rejected concepts for Alien.

A 3d scan of a baby                                  A hobbit recovering from a smelting accident

The obstetricians love it. They meander through the regular ultrasound, which I find to be the most interesting, before professing the modern wonders and technological marvels of the 3D scan while I sit there staring at a leprechaun who got caught in a forest fire.

It’s like watching one of those grainy conspiracy videos where they show doctors operating on something dragged out of a smouldering wreck at Area 51. Except it’s my child. Inside of my wife.

And, like always, some entrepreneurial spirit has delivered us even deeper into the realms of weird. Because now you can get a 3D-printed version of your fetus. Yes, that’s right, an actual physical 3D-printed fetus.

So now you don’t just get to watch a DVD of someone taking a flamethrower to Tyrion Lannister, you get to HOLD IT.

I mean, where are you even going to put this thing? On the coffee table? The mantlepiece?

“Honey, have you seen my car keys?”

“Did you check your jeans?”

“Yeah, not there.”

“Under the couch?”

“Nope. Oh wait, here they are. I left them by the fetus again.”

Maybe you could wear it on a chain, like Flava Flav. I mean, Ludacris wore a midget on his necklace in that one film clip so I suppose it’s not that great of a leap.

And then, how do you explain it to your child once their grown?

“Daddy, why is there a model of an emaciated Golem with third degree sun burn on your desk?”

“Well, darling, that’s you.”

Imagine the years of therapy after that. It’ll cost a fortune.

I’m sure one day we’ll get some incredible images in utero, but for now I’m just happy to know that my child is healthy and leave the rest to wonderment.

But, like everything in life, it’s horses for courses. If you’ve fallen in love with that blurry image of an elf that failed to escape a volcanic eruption, then who am I to argue?