It’s the day we meet our baby

This week: Today is the day I get to meet my baby

‘Not a single one of my last three children’s births went in any way according to my plan’

‘Anything you fancy doing today?” asks Mike.

It’s Thursday morning and we are lying in bed, both with a rare morning off.

I’ve got my hands on my bump, as usual, feeling our baby kick about.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe we could walk into town and go for a coffee, there are a couple of things I want to get in Boots, and then, maybe after lunch we could… GO TO THE HOSPITAL AND HAVE OUR BABY,” I reply.

Because here we are. I am booked in to have an induction at the hospital, to get this adventurous little baby out, at last.

Today, all going well, we will become parents.

There have been many books written about giving birth. I penned one of them, about 10 years ago. Most of it is completely out of date and useless, but a few pearls of ancient Fraser motherhood wisdom hold true to this day; a day on which I find myself trying to take a leaf out of my own book. Namely, that labour and birth never ever go as planned.

Writing a birth plan and expecting any of it to actually happen is as naive as writing a gambling plan before walking into a casino. You can plan as much as you like, love, but when the three of clubs doesn’t come up, it’s just the bad luck of the draw.

It happens as it happens. And almost always, it happens very messily.

Not a single one of my last three children’s births went in any way according to my plan. The first was two weeks late and having insisted that I didn’t want any painkillers, in the end I took every drug going and she was sucked out after 37 hours of labour. For the other two, I pretty much went in with “I Want An Epidural Now” tattooed on my forehead, but as it turned out I wasn’t able to have one for either of them. Great.

This time, I am 42 and

there are new factors to consider. First up, it’s the most surreal labour experience I’ve ever had because I know when it is going to start.

No hanging around in M&S hoping my waters break in the alcohol aisle and thus be entitled to a lifetime’s supply of their awesome gin and tonic. No waiting and wondering. This time, I know.

And so does everyone I bump into this morning. The barista in the café (“Hi, what can I get you?”, “One cappuccino please – I’m going to have a baby today!”), the cashier in Boots (“Anything else?”, “No, just this… and a baby later today!”) and so on. I don’t care how annoying it is. I’m off to have a baby!

The other people who know are my three teenage children. And in hugely different circumstances to the last time I had a baby, I’m not arranging for friends or relatives to come and look after two toddlers while I go to hospital; instead I’m texting my eldest at university and my younger two at school, to let them know how I’m getting on.

We’ve talked about it, they know everything, and I can only try to imagine how weird it must be, having studied GCSE biology, to know your mum is off to give birth. They’re excited, and understandably nervous.

The hospital is three miles away, and we don’t have a car, so we decide to walk the first mile or so, carrying full hospital bags and enjoying every second of the world as we know it, before we become parents. We stop off for a takeaway Chelsea bun in the café where we first met, years ago. It feels oddly significant. How little we knew, that day when I first walked in and ordered a coffee, what lay ahead. Finally, we hail a cab. “You ready?” I ask. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go and meet our baby.”

Next time: This baby is not going to make anything easy