All is quiet in our house: both kids are sleeping soundly, my better half is nowhere to be seen and I’ve had a bit of time to think about what life might be like come January, when we will officially become the Jackson Five.
Yesterday, I was chatting with a colleague who’s recently become a dad to twins. We were reflecting back on the conversation we’d had a few weeks back, when my one little piece of advice had been: pack a bendy straw or two in the hospital bag. The reason? Labour is thirsty work, and it’s quite hard for most women to sit up when they’re in the full throws of having a contraction. So, take along that bendy straw and she’ll be able to have a drink whilst still lying down. (I KNOW. Sometimes, I surprise even myself with how insightful I am).
When our third child arrives, I think I’ll need to bear in mind a more important tip, though: namely, don’t walk into the wrong delivery room. When our daughter was born, I nipped out to go to the toilet, and happily wandered back in to what I thought was the room in which my wife was giving birth. There was certainly a woman in there, and she was most definitely trying her absolute best to push that baby out. But I’d never met her in my life before. To say that the midwife was mortified would be the dictionary definition of the word ‘understatement’.
So, come the new year, I’ll most definitely have a bendy straw about my person at all times. But I’ll also make sure I have a pen and paper in the other pocket, to note down exactly which room my wife can be found in. Better to be safe than…arrested.