It's Not Over Until The Fat Baby Screams

The puddle on the wheelchair removed any lingering doubt, this was actually happening, I was about to become a father. The parents' class on what to expect during labour was due to be held later that week, so I only had hearsay and sitcoms to guide me. I believed that the waters breaking was the final stage before labour and parenthood. Sure I guessed that in the real world the labour might last longer than a 30 minute episode of Friends, but I was thinking in terms of hours. It was days.

I was not expecting to be sent home alone from the hospital, leaving a wife who looked as bewildered and as emotional as I felt. I couldn't sleep, the bed was too empty and my mind was too full. I dreamt of a phone ringing, which seemed so real that I found myself dialling 1471 at 6am. 6am! How early that seemed once!

Having been let down by popular culture, I spoke to friends and colleagues who had children and their stories were very similar. The agony of waiting, the failure of a gel that is supposed to induce labour but never does and then the phone call from the calm midwife.