Thank God it’s the …
Oh fuck contraction
Yesterday I promised on a BBC website (which makes it legally binding of course) that I’d call the twins Andy and Murray if he won and they were born that day. Tricky as one is a boy and one is a girl (did I mention?). And then in a rash moment I texted the new DG of the BBC, and my old mentor, George Entwistle to say I’d name them George and Entwistle if they came before midnight. It was supposed to frighten them back in but as I started timing my contractions around 11 I thought ‘oops’. So here I am in a delivery room at 3.35am contracting every 5 minutes and my babies have been spared the indignity.
I’m holding off getting the husband in till it gets worse so he can be fresh when I am flagging and have his strong hand squeezed till it breaks. A very nice midwife called Sophie is looking after me. She has a kind face and a calm air. Listening to the Beach Boys, Nina Simone and a bit of Bob Lind to relax plus a few other things too embarrassing to mention. The painkillers seem to have taken the edge off. It may all come to nothing but it feels like it’s gone too far. We’ll see.
28 weeks is not a bad prognosis for them if they are born tonight.
They will be ok. They’ll be ok. But maybe there’s still a little chance universe of just a few more days?