29th December 2011.

15:48.

A walk. What better way to bring on full-blown contractions than a good stretching of one’s legs? Never mind the fierce wind driving a fine drizzle into our faces and making the whole experience altogether unpleasant. Throw in a handful of what I am politely reassured are wholly inconvenient contractions and you have a situation that couldn’t be further from those blackberry-picking lazy strolls baked in golden sunshine. I feel less than inadequate as I offer the rhetorical question “are you ok?” as means of comfort, followed more thoughtfully by “you’re ok” and a rub of the arm. I should imagine it alleviated little, if any of the pain, but what else can us men-folk do at times like this?

Stark warnings are issued via SMS and telephone communications. “Go to the hospital now. Do not delay.” But the contractions lack consistency and the prospect of meeting ‘the wriggler’ seems somewhat unreal. Retire to bed at 9pm, in order to prepare for the unpredictable next few days.