Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 by Nick Spalding Read Free Book Online Page B

brought him into the world.
    ‘That,’ he says, ‘was absolutely brilliant!’ He gives me a huge hug.
    ‘Really? Your mum is going to hate me.’
    ‘Meh, she wasn’t keen on you to start with. Don’t take it to heart though, she’s never liked any of my women.’ His eyes gleam with merriment. ‘None of the others ever told her she was a bitch though. Priceless!’
    He kisses me through the sheen of bolognaise sauce I still haven’t managed to clean off.
    ‘I am delighted to be married to you,’ he says. ‘And even more delighted that you’re having my baby.’
     
    I don’t know if I’d call that a win Mum, but if a man says he loves you even when you’ve just mortally insulted his mother, and you look like an Italian restaurant has thrown up over your head, I guess you must be doing something right.
     
    Love you, miss you, and wish Jane could take a leaf out of your book!
     
    Your still slightly light-headed daughter, Laura.
     
    xxx

 
     
     
    Jamie’s Blog
    Wednesday 10 July
     
     
    Yawn .
    Out of bed again…
    I can’t sleep because of Laura’s thrashing, so thought I’d update the blog.
    I’ll get onto the reasons why she’s thrashing around in bed like a landed turbot shortly, but first:
     
    I’ve never been to the hospital so much in my bloody life.
    I’m thinking of paying for a permanent parking space. I’m sure it’ll end up being cheaper in the long run than having to pay the extortionate parking fees.
    It barely seems like five minutes have passed since the last time we drove away, before I’m once again sat with the driver’s side window open, bashing the stupid ticket machine and swearing sulphurously when it doesn’t spit out the ticket quick enough.
    I hate hospitals.
    They’re full of sick people.
    Corridors and corridors of people suffering either from things I can catch, or things I don’t want to look at.
    Every time I enter one I have to constantly suppress the mild panic attack that’s threatening to claw its way up my throat and embarrass me in public.
    Imagine my delight therefore, at having to more or less live in the maternity wing thanks to my wife’s pregnancy.
    I’ve seen some of the nurses so many times now I’m seriously considering adding them on Facebook.
    We’re also getting very familiar with our doctor, a short, timid looking man called Abbotson.
    He has a facial tic.
    He winks.
    A lot .
    It’s very disconcerting.
    I can’t tell whether he’s being serious about the pregnancy or not when he speaks to us. ‘You have to keep up your vitamin intake, Mrs Newman,’ he’ll say. ‘A healthy immune system is vital to a baby’s development.’ Wink . ‘It’s advisable to take multi-vitamins right up until you give birth.’ Wink wink .
    Do you mean that, squire? Or are you mucking about? You sound quite serious, but the winking is making me think this is one big practical joke at our expense. Do we need the bloody vitamins or not?
    Other than the tic, Dr Abbotson is a congenial sort of bloke.
    The same cannot be said for Marigold Ubantu, our midwife.
    Marigold is originally from
Namibia
and has forgotten more about delivering babies than the rest of the human population will ever know. She’s terrifying. Marigold came to the
UK
over twenty years ago from a country about to tear itself apart through civil war.
    One of the first things she said to us was: ‘I have helped deliver babies with gunfire going on over my head. Don’t you worry about it at all. Marigold will see you right.’
    I think this was meant to sooth our nerves, but Marigold is over six feet tall, has forearms like hams and survived half her life in a country where sudden death was an ever present threat. She’s impressive and scary in equal measure.
    Frankly, I don’t envy Laura one little bit. She’s the one who gets man-handled by Marigold on a regular basis.
    ‘She’s very gentle when she needs to be, don’t get me wrong,’ Laura told me after one visit. ‘But if