At last!

No, it hasn't taken another 11 days for Blodwyn to be born, though it seemed like it at the time.

We returned to the maternity department at 6pm, as instructed. JW's mum was there to meet us. I had a text from the OH at 7.45: Hope u r not on 4 another long night. So did we.

I recall at some point JW coming to tell us Giovanna was 5cm dilated. His mum and I sat in the corridor, mostly on the wide window sills, the three (!) chairs provided being monumentally uncomfortable. Apart from which, they were occupied much of the night by sleeping fathers-to-be. Why were they there, I wondered. Had they had enough of nothing happening or did they just not want to be at the business end of the birth?

Several women walked down the corridor to admissions, huffing and puffing, Most did the return journey, disappointed, some hour or two later. With the maternity department full, these women were doomed to roam the grounds or go home, only to repeat the experience some time in the near future.

Every now and again new mums would appear, being pushed in a bed to a ward, new babe in arms. One or two were even walking! For a while, one father-to-be paced up and down the corridor, mobile phone glued to his ear, giving several relatives updates on the situation. Finally, someone poked their head around the door of one of the wards and called him. He sprinted excitedly down its length. He and his partner appeared in the corridor with their new sprog later on. JW's mother and I were still waiting.

Around 10.30, we were allowed in briefly to see how Giovanna was getting on. Sitting on the bed, she was sucking in the gas and air like she was an industrial vacuum cleaner. And it was her second tank. 'Remember what I told you about Christine?' I said. She nodded limply.

Many years before, a friend of mine had almost gone to sleep overdoing on the gas and air. It was when she heard the midwife proclaim, as if from far away, 'If she keeps on with that, it'll be hours before this baby's born,' that she finally put the mask down and got on with it.

Giovanna, undeterred by my cautionary tale, stuck the tube back in her mouth (no more masks!) and resumed her Dyson impression.

I sent a text to the OH, explaining she was 7cm dilated. His reply? Should be soon then. You wouldn't think he was a father of four.

At quarter to eleven I received this text from Aunty C: I think I'd have asked them to cut it out by now! Lest anyone think her heartless, I must explain that she's a vet, and a farm vet at that. All the same, I'm rather relieved Giovanna didn't give birth ultra quickly the weekend before when C was visiting!

Around 4.30am, Giovanna appeared in the corridor, no babe in arms, being moved to another ward for the final push. But she was going to need a little help. She didn't register us at all, JW giving a brief explanation as he trotted behind.

Little else was happening in the corridor by this time, apart from a grandfather (the only one we saw) sitting on the uncomfy chairs, having a quiet quarrel on his mobile. I think it was with his wife.

A little after five, I noticed it was getting light. By now JW's mum and I had got a second wind. I felt like I'd never sleep again, though by this time I'd slept only three hours in the previous 74.

Six o'clock in the morning, Saturday 6th August, and finally JW appeared to greet us with the happy news. LHG had been born just after 5.30, all 8lbs 9oz of him, screaming his annoyance at being extracted with forceps from his cosy room.

JW's mum ('Nana') and I popped in to see our grandson. Giovanna looked remarkably well considering what she'd just been through. I think at some point I said, 'It's not called labour for nothing,' though she'd clearly worked that out for herself.

Nana reckoned LHG was the spit of JW as a newborn, whereas I was convinced he looked like his Uncle Peter and Uncle Jack. Ah, that's grandmothers for you!