Hurry up and wait.
We're in the delivery suite! Well, I'm not -- I've been sent to eat food, since, unlike Vic, I'm not on a glucose drip and might actually collapse of hunger -- but Vic most certainly is. As well as the glucose, she's on at least a hundred other drips of various types, and is comfortable and well and fairly happy now she's got an epidural. (Some women disapprove of epidurals, and they can sod off -- if they don't want one, they don't have to have one, but I think we could all do without any sanctimonious down-nose-looking at those who do have one, thanks.) In fact, it's not just for pain relief, anyway: the obstetric consultant wanted it put in to control Vic's blood pressure, which tends to go a bit wild in the presence of doctors.
Waters are broken. Waters are broken! WATERS ARE BROKEN! Amazing.
But we've been told that nothing's likely to happen for at least another four hours, probably more like six. So off I go to eat food. And blog, obviously. Addicted to the Interweb? Me?
All the staff are continuing to be brilliant, by the way. We know from experience that there are one or two dreadful doctors and nurses in this hospital, but no-one's letting them anywhere near Vic. Senior consultantant obstetricians, senior consultantant diabetic doctor, consultantant anaesthetist, and bloody good midwives and nurses. It'd be nice if everyone got this treatment from the NHS, not just the high-risk pregnancies, but hey: for us, right now, they're pulling out the stops, and they're unfaultably great.
Next post should contain the word "boy" or "girl".
You know, I'm finally starting to feel excited.
The front page.