Page 24 of How We Loved

The pram is in the hallway downstairs.

I peed myself in Mothercare again.

17th November

Woke up to a banging noise and had a horrible moment where I thought Bodge-It was back doing more DIY. I went to get up to investigate, but then had the most intense Braxton Hicks. Seriously, if they are just pretend contractions, what are the real things going to be like?

Eventually, they subsided, but not before I’d started timing them again and panicking that maybe they weren’t pretending but, in fact, the real thing. They stopped, though, so I’m assuming all was good. Baby is stretching and squishing. It can’t possibly have run out of room; there are acres of space again. I was just bemoaning about having to go and see Juanita again for yet another measurement when the bang sounded again, followed by a curse.

Rolling out of bed, slowly, a bit like dismounting a horse, I went to investigate.

Ben was in the baby’s room covered in paint and building the cot. “What on earth are you doing?” I stretched and yawned, holding the bump up with one hand because I really needed a pee despite going at least ten times during the night.

“We’ve got to be ready, Lil.” Ben stared at me, wildly. “We just aren’t ready.”

I turned and looked at all the work he’d done. “Grey?”

“The yellow wasn’t working.”

“Agreed.” I stepped further into the room. “Grey is perfect. It looks warm in here now.”

The cot was taking shape, and I helped Ben with the last couple of screws, still dressed in my too-small pyjamas. When it was done, we both stood and stared at the mattress for a moment, then I got the cotton blanket the woman in Mothercare had insisted was the right one, and the sheet I’d washed in Fairy Non-Bio, as instructed by a parenting magazine I’d happened to pick up when waiting for Juanita.

Once it was made, we stood there and held hands. “It feels real now,” I said.

“It does.” Ben tucked me into his chest, wrapping his arm around my back. “It’s the next chapter in that story of us you told me about in Trafalgar that night.

I’d forgotten about the night a year and a half ago when we’d sat on the fountain at Trafalgar and exchanged rings even though we were saying goodbye. I twinkled the ring up at him, his Gran’s ring and a daily reminder that we have to try harder to make this work, to keep this thing between us alive and the very best it can be for the rest of our lives.

I planned on saying something profound but I had another Braxton Hicks contraction instead and bent over, breathing out a slow stream of air - as I’d seen on Casualty on the telly. “Is it too late to sign up for all the pain relief?” I said, grimacing my words.

Ben chuckled and then helped me through to the lounge where I just kind of collapsed onto the sofa. “Absolutely. Pain relief is banned. That’s what you wanted, remember?”

18th November

Braxton Hicks are now every twenty minutes. Juanita has confirmed it’s not the real thing. The birthing pool is arriving today. I’m now officially nervous that this is happening but trying very hard to be cool and calm in front of Ben.

Last night we put our favourite names in a hat. Meredith and Tristan came up to see us, Tristan coming to see his “main man.” Ugh. Eye-roll. Ben and Tristan disappeared for a pint in our local (the only place where people don’t bat an eyelid at Ben and all his gorgeous famousness - but mainly because I’ve heard a rumour that Chris Martin from Coldplay used to drink in there, and as much as I love Ben, he’s not Chris Martin yet) while Meredith and I sorted the names.

“I’ve got a good feeling, Lilah,” she said as she took a sip of the herbal tea I’d made her and then pulled a face. “Look how calm you are.”

Calm? I was like a swan. Serene above the water, but paddling like hell underneath. Yep. Calm. That’s me.

19th November

Mum arrived to keep my company, which I think is code for stopping me eating KitKats.

Ben went to see Baz at the shop.

20th November

The baby shower (which I wasn’t overly excited about) took place downstairs. I was worried it was an American thing, but Bev, Ben’s Mum, assured me it was the best way to get all the gifts we need. His sisters bought me the entire Marks & Spencer’s baby catalogue. Beth and Jayne got me a nappy bin. Apparently, it’s essential for poop nappies. Tristan and Ben got drunk while I got poked in the cervix. Mum drank gin, pretty normal, Dad told everyone he was setting up a trust fund for the baby.

21st November

Still no baby.

Mum’s driving me insane.