The water broke this morning, about an hour and a half ago.
My wife had been wondering if she'd be able to tell when it broke. That's a thing, apparently, some people have very little. It wasn't our thing, in the event. It wasn't exactly a flood, but we'd turned the bed into a sort of improvised ark using special waterproof sheeting just in case. And just as well.
0545 on 12/01/13 marks the beginning of the first phase of labour, then. She's curled up on the sofa now, timing contractions with a stopwatch. We've just had a very relaxed, almost Edwardian breakfast. The hospital knows, and is expecting us for a scan later this morning.
The journalistic side of me wants to record impressions of how I'm feeling, what we're both thinking right now, what's happening. Not much on all counts, really. I asked my wife if there was anything she wanted to say for the record (because I'm a jerk that way) - "No. Not at the moment."
Same here. Too many hopes and fears to sort out into anything neat or tidy. More later on, as or when, who can tell.
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