Entry for August 10, 2007

Yes Suspended for today
The YES Experiment
If anyone's having difficulty following the theme of these entries, click on the link above and all will be explained.
The contractions started seriously during Eastenders. Normally if I watch Eastenders, the worst that happens is that I get a bit of a headache and sometimes a murderous rage comes over me. However, it seems that the sight of Phil Mitchell's head is, in the right circumstances, enough to induce labour. Overdue mothers take note.
We phoned the hospital and they assured us it was too early to come in. They said a hot bath and a couple of paracetamol was all that was needed for now. I am not a doctor myself, but given the screams coming from my wife in the bath, the prescription seemed to be a bit like telling a man who had had his arm cut off by a rusty axe to apply a band aid and stop acting like a big girl. However, the NHS know what they are doing so we persevered.
I say we, although in fairness my Significant Other had the lion's share of the persevering to do. I did run the bath and make a cup of tea though, so it wasn't all plain sailing for me either.
We'd been told to wait until the contractions were three minutes apart before coming in. So, given Mrs B's shouts of "Oh God, Oh God, I'm so frightened," I thought I'd make myself useful by timing the contractions. After I spent about 20 minutes trying to work out how the stop watch on my mobile phone works, I carefully timed the contractions, and noted they were precisely three minutes apart. This combined with a shout of "This f***ing baby's coming NOW" led to a degree of concern on my part. My wife assured me that the baby was on its way, so I did what I felt was right.
I lied.
I told her the contractions were seven minutes apart. I felt that, by lying, I might somehow fool her body and several million years of evolution into slowing down until we got to the hospital. I suggested she get out the bath and that we make our way to the hospital "just in case".
And that is how we came to be in the car, with my tearful wife sobbing "I'm going to have this baby in the car."
"Don't be silly sweetheart. You have hours to go," I explained cheerfully, hoping my wife would forget that I am not a trained midwife, but am instead someone who likes to sit around in his pants watching Soccer AM.
"Shut up you useless f***er." She had clearly not been fooled. I tried the old "Your contractions are seven minutes apart" routine again. But through the agony she pointed in a way that can only be described as - well - pointedly to the digital clock on the dashboard.
However, we made it, with about half an hour to spare. The midwife couldn't have been better. I even managed to get through the rest of the labour without any pain relief. I am very brave.
And at 9.59 pm my son popped into the world, a little bruised but pink and with skin like a warm peach. He opened one eye and saw some blurry images that might have been a smiling mother and a father who seemed to be crying.
I am going now to hold him. He says hello to you all.