As Aunty C left for the wilds of the West Country on Monday, she said, rather forlornly, 'I suppose Blod will turn up the moment I'm gone.'
My OH, away in Wales over Tuesday and Wednesday to attend a funeral (ironically at the other end of the mortal coil) was similarly convinced. It looked like he might be right when I had a text from Giovanna Tuesday evening saying, 'Dnt want 2 worry u,' - which is guaranteed to do just that - 'bt ive been havin regular but spread out bak crampy type things.'
This was more hopeful than the vague back ache she'd been complaining of earlier. My own contractions had happened in my back all those years ago, so maybe hers would to. When I rang the OH to tell him, he moaned, 'I thought it would happen while I was away!'
A text at 4.30 the following morning seemed to confirm his fears: 'Had a show n my contractions are closer now.' She rang the hospital but they don't want to see you unless your contractions are three to four minutes apart, or your waters have broken.
By quarter past nine, the contractions were five to ten minutes apart, 'n have been 4 the last 5 hours'. Eh? Only four in the last five hours but ten minutes apart? Got to love text speak - she meant 'have been for the last five hours'!
Passing on the info to interested parties, I got an email back from a friend: 'OMG OMG OMG!!!!! This is it!'
Except it wasn't. A day and a half later, and she's still waiting. 'They never show all this waiting round in films!' Giovanna grumbled. Bet she's glad she didn't rush off to hospital 4.30 yesterday morning!
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