My family once found ourselves sitting in an airport waiting for a storm to break so we could fly. For the first couple of hours we were certain the weather would clear and we would soon be on our way. Around that point, one of our fellow wait-ees decided to crack open the fairly high end bottle of scotch he was carrying (Father was quick to befriend him). A couple of hours on from that, we were certain we would fly: there was no way they'd keep us this long otherwise! Eight hours after our scheduled departure (and long after the scotch had been drained), the flight was cancelled. I'm yet to see Boston.
The reason I'm bringing this old, sore point up, is that subconsciously I think a part of me is suspicious that this could happen with Baby. A week ago, Wifey and I went to bed nightly expectant of a pre-dawn trip to the hospital. We were prepared mentally and emotionally: as close to 'ready' as we would ever be. And yet Baby would not come. Yes, we tried all the different old wives' tales. People swear by curry, sex and exercise. I found a gym ball and made Wifey bounce on it. I aimed for every pot hole I passed. One website suggested "galloping" to help the baby drop, but Wifey simply refused to do Psy's "Gangnam Style" dance with me.
So after several mornings of waking and finding Wifey not in labour (as I hoped and expected she would be), my hope started to wane. It has reached the point now where I no longer go to bed expecting to be awoken by a contraction-ridden Wifey. In fact, some subconscious niggle is starting to say that maybe we missed Baby... maybe, like that flight to Boston, she's just not happening...
Of course, that thought process is lunacy. Baby will come and chances are she'll choose the most inappropriate time. Much like that old rhyme...
'Twas the night before Christmas,
And in Wifey's tummy,
A creature's still resting;
She's not yet a mummy.
And now we've come this far,
Why not one day more?
Let's just get through Christmas,
Before Baby's born.
We were ready a week ago,
You could have come then,
But no - you just stayed there,
But sure, you'll come when -
We've driven an hour,
To your grandparents-to-be,
A long way from hospital,
Yet close to the sea.
And the lunch will be ready,
A beer in my hand,
Surfboard not yet touched,
With the beach's sweet sand.
And 'splash': there'll go waters,
All over the floor,
And then, just like that,
We'll be up out the door.
Wifey puffing and heaving
And cursing this day,
And you watch: I'll sure cop it,
'Cos I took her away!
For at home (where we live)
The hospital's near,
There's not hours of driving,
And that shocking fear:
That time will run short
And 'hey presto!' you'll come;
Our baby born roadside,
Like that Mosman mum.
So hang on sweet baby,
You've lasted thus far,
And please don't come messing
Up our fresh new car.
Let Christmas pass by,
And then place your mark,
On a calendar day,
Where you're less in the dark -
Overshadowed forever,
By the birth of a lad,
Born of Mary, in manger,
With God as his dad.
More on him later,
Sure, in time you'll find,
How that very child,
Saved all of mankind.
But back to His birthday,
(Though not the real date)
'Tis the day recognised,
That we celebrate.
Making month of December,
On the day twenty five,
A terrible day,
For you to arrive.
So you just get comfy,
And stay where you rest,
While we meet with family,
And enjoy Christmas fest'.
But just two days later,
If you're yet to arrive,
We'll be back to see doctor
And in he will dive.
He'll rattle your world
And crack your cocoon;
Merry Christmas sweet daughter:
We'll be seeing you soon.
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