Apr. 9th, 2016

jfs: (Default)
According to medical science, my baby is due today.

It's rubbish, really. They make a best guess as to the date of conception then assume 40 weeks from there. We're dead certain that the date is wrong. And anyhow, I'm told that only 5% of babies are born on thier due date.

But still.

Now, we are in waiting mode. Now, the delivery is ticking over into overdue. A's maternity leave has started and that 12 month clock is ticking even if Baby Scott-Roe (as close as we are to a name) is late to the ball.

Everything is ready. Well. Everything which can be. Rooms are decorated, plans are made, bags are packed. Routes and backup routes have been drawn on maps and committed to memory (and google maps). Like any event, you plan for all the things that you can so that you have brain space and energy for all the things you can't plan for.

I'd like to claim I'm scared, or apprehensive, or something. Something I can answer honestly to all the people who ask "How are you feeling?". Or so I can agree with the people who say "you must be frightened" with such confidence.

But I'm not. This is an event, like all the events I've run over the past 30 years. What can be anticipated has been. What can't will be dealt with when it arrives.

If the adrenaline kicks in now I'll burn out before I'm useful. So I'm kicking my heels in a Soho bar, an open fire, a Guinness and a comfortable chair while A is at a hen do she'd said she couldn't attend but is now able to. We will head home soon.

I'm not ready.

But I'm ready to be ready.

That'll do.

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