Page 25 of How We Loved

22nd November

Still no baby.

Mum’s driving me insane still.

23rd November.

Still no baby.

24th November

Still no baby. Birthday was an utter shambles, but Ben has promised me that we will celebrate properly once we can. To be fair, we were still winning on previous years, considering we were together and not embroiled in some relationship-ending row. It was probably safer that we just sat and watched Eastenders while Mum gave us a drumming commentary of her latest book club meeting. Meredith and Tristan went out to celebrate because they are normal people and aren’t expecting a baby, and she’s not the size of a glamping tent. Ugh.

25th November

Still no baby. I’ve told it that I’m happy for it to arrive now that I’ve had my own lacklustre birthday. I’m having trouble standing up because the pain jabbing into my cervix is just purely beyond measure. How can that be right? Juanita has been checking in. I told her we were still aiming for a home birth, but I was lying.

I’m scared shitless.

It’s going to hurt so bad.

26th November

I’ve got a huge issue. I need pickles. I need gherkins to be precise, and I need them right now, but there aren’t any in the house. I’ve been crying for about an hour.

I’ve also cleaned the kitchen floor.

Ben’s gone to get gherkins. He promised me he wouldn’t be long.

Oh my god. Why can’t I stop crying?

Later

Mum came in and found me on the bed, sobbing. “Darling, your father’s back from golf, and he can’t find his teal tie anywhere. You don’t mind if I pop home, do you?” I waved her away.

“Where are the gherkins?” It was all I cared about.

She hesitated. ‘I’ll call Ben, he’s been gone a long time. Now don’t have that baby until I come back.”

With a groan, I rolled onto my back. Only for thirty seconds because you aren’t allowed to sleep on your back when you are pregnant, and I’m petrified of hurting the baby. “This baby is never coming out.” I gave it a prod. “Look at it. I’ve made it too comfy. It’s going to stay in there forever and always.”

Mum came and sat on the side of the bed and patted my leg. “Don’t you worry, Lilah. You’ll have that baby before tomorrow.”

“Mum. I hate to be the one to finally tell you, but you aren’t a fortune teller, and you aren’t always right.”

She patted my leg again. “I can’t wait for you to be a mother, dear. And I’m really hoping it’s a girl.”

I don’t know what she meant.

Now I’m alone. Mum has gone to Guildford to find dad’s teal tie - seriously, is the man not a grown-up? And Ben has apparently gone to a pickle factory to find me a jar of gherkins.

And now... BLOODY DAMN IT. I need a wee again.

Shit!!

My waters have broken. At least I think they have; otherwise, that was the biggest wee I’ve ever done. It’s all over the bathroom floor. Crap. I think it’s still Braxton Hicks, though. The contractions don’t feel any different from what they have been for days. I’ve tried calling Ben, but he’s not answering. Where the hell is he? Oooh, my phone. Hopefully, that’s him.

Later