On The Brink

It is now 8 days until the baby’s projected due date. In reality, this means that the baby could arrive any time in the next two weeks or so.

Maybe I’ll hear a funny buzzing noise while sat at my desk. I’ll quickly figure out that it’s my phone vibrating (I’m clever like that, you see) and so I’ll check the screen to see who it is. *Karen mob*, apparently. I will answer the phone with something like “Hi, are you alright?” and [she][] will say *”My waters have just broken!”* or *”I’m having real, proper contractions!”*

[she]: http://uborka.nu/rise/

At this point I’ll find out where she is, and arrange a rendezvous, and then I’ll stuff my possessions into my bag and hurtle out of the office while hollering a suitable explanatory message back at my co-workers.

Or maybe we’ll be sat on the sofa watching a film, and from beside me I’ll hear an *”Uh-oh.”* or *”Nnnnngg.”* or *”Yaaargh!”* and this will serve as my cue. We’ve probably got enough time to wait until the next advert break. It’s not like she’s going anywhere under her own steam in a hurry.

Sadly, it’s also highly likely that I’ll be prodded awake in the middle of the night. If necessary, I will politely, by use of appropriate hand gestures, tell Karen to STFU while I lurch downstairs to find a vein and shoot up with espresso. I’m sure she understands that it is in her own interests to allow me to do this, in order that I may become a more effective labour partner.

Pregnancy has been a long and annoying wait. It’s only in the last few days that the end has realistically been in sight, and it has kicked in: yes, we really are going to deliver a fucking baby, how about that. Followed, of course, by a future that it would be daft to attempt to predict. That excites me.