Panic Stations

My sister rang earlier today to ask me to collect her, drive back past my house to get a car tyre for her and then drive back past my house again to drop her home before coming back here myself.

Then she rang to say she might be in labour (if you only think you might be .  . you're not lol).

So, no tyre for her as I have cakes to get out and she's early.  She said this baby is due next week and she's just going to have to hang on in there.

She asked me to be her birthday partner, her hubby isn't keen!?  Seriously, I know, but it ain't my life and I'm staying quiet.  Except I'm obviously not because I'm kinda bitching now.  He's worried that he won't be able to cope with seeing her in pain and not able to help her.  I think he should man the fuck up and go in there and hold her hand and tell her she's fantastic.  I mean, that's all men get to do really.  Hold their partner's hands and tell them they're doing great.  Although, thinking back, Himself really did my head in with his Cheerleader routine.  Him and Marlon (my trainee midwife) looking at me, willing me on, driving me nuts .  I think he may regret it one day.  He's missing out on something really amazing.  I don't know what I think of God and all that jazz but I do know when they handed me each of my three boys I believed in Miracles.  Such magic, such teeny, tiny perfect people.  So new and suddenly there. 

I was so excited when she asked me but now I'm kinda worried.  I don't know if I'M cut out to sit in a room and  wait.  I'm great when it's all happening but all that waiting and pacing?  Himself once remarked that there was no mortar in the foundations of the Rotunda Hospital, just a lot of women leaning against it and panting.

I'll let you know how I get on but I don't think it's a good sign when the phonecalls, along the lines of "this might be it" are already driving me nuts.  It either is.  Or it isn't.  And pack your bloody bag love, you should've done it weeks ago.