Operation Procreation Part 2

So when your mum called me an hour after her appointment with Pete, and said that she thought she might be going into labour, punkin, I was a little skeptical.

I was a little skeptical very quietly.

I told the guys at work that I had to leave immediately (your mother had called my mobile phone - it was accepted that this meant something was happening.) and drove home at a brisk but safe pace.

Arriving home, I found your mum having what seemed to be fairly mild contractions. They were sporadic, and, given that she'd never had any before, we weren't 100% sure that that's what they were. She got on the phone to the hospital, and then to the trusty Emma, both of whom told her that if she thought she was having contractions, then she probably was having contractions.

Being people who live a long way away from some of the parents in our lives, we had decided in advance what the next few hours was going to be like. Given that it was a Tuesday, Harry and Liz were already on their way over (TOP MODEL), so we didn't need to call them, but we dropped them a line to make sure they were bringing toothbrushes. Next on the list was tidying the house a bit and making sure the bag was packed.

Meantime, of course, there are people coming for dinner. So your dad makes dinner (being a man, he needs some thing to DO), and your mum cleans the house, sitting down every five or so minutes while she has what I keep assuring her are more "phantom" contractions.

By 8:30, when TOP MODEL starts (at which time you would usually need a 6 foot crowbar and a team of wild brumbies to get your mum off the couch), she's in the bath, telling me that no, she doesn't want any dinner, and that yes, I probably should actually call the hospital again, and that yes, she would actually now actually like to ACTUALLY GO TO THE HOSPITAL.

So, amid fanfare and general rummaging (Harry and Liz wanting to help, but being unable to leave the couch (and who could blame them)), we depart for Frances Perry House, with me being positive that they're going to take one look at your mum and tell us to go home again.

Driving again at a brisk but careful pace, we arrived at the hospital and were ushered into a delivery room. A couple of belts were stretched around your mum's belly, so the nurses could tell what was going on with you.

And they didn't send us home.