The due date was fast approaching, and, having had Toby five weeks early, this pregnancy was feeling like it had dragged on far too long. On Sunday morning, two days before D-Day, we went to church, wearily confirming to eager enquiries that yes, we were still here, no baby in tow yet. And then, at 3:30 am on the morning of Monday 10th February, my waters broke and things began to get moving. Fast. Yes, I know I had to apologise to you ladies who have gone through long-drawn-out labours last time , and I'm afraid I have to do it again. The change in the midwife's attitude when we got to the hospital was almost comical; she breezed in and put the monitors on and said, "I'll just leave those for a few minutes, then". Back she came for a proper examination, had a quick feel, and: "OK, we'll get you to the delivery room RIGHT NOW," followed by a mad dash down the corridor in a wheelchair! Our new little boy was born at 5:16 am. You...
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