– 4:19 am

“Please tell he or she I have a needle phobia and I don’t want to see anything”.

She’s talking about an epidural.

Moments ago, every contraction felt like a crucifixion, hammering a nail in. Agonising and excruciating. I imagine it was. You could see it on her face, in bold. She was crying (not screaming, in fact, she hasn’t screamed once) and failing at handling the pain. Some can, most can’t. And why should they?

What a demanding couple of days! We came in to see Mr Patrick O’Brien on Tuesday as part of our weekly check-in, (we call him PatPat by the way) and by then, your mother had been contracting for nearly half a day. In her mind, she was ready to give birth. But at 1 cm? No chance darling. Not even close.

It was 2:25 pm when I handed over the keys at Devonshire Row Mews Car Park on Wednesday. Your mother had been contracting for over 24 hours at this point. We thought this was it (according to her at least). But after another examination, she was still only a centimetre dilated. Given her exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and unbearable pain, we decided to wait it out in case “something happened”. The contractions grew stronger, and the pain got worse but nothing really did happen. I now know this first stage of labour to be called the latent phase. And it can be quite long.

I got some Duck and Rice delivered to the hospital. It was uncharacteristically disappointing. I mean where did the duck sauce go? Some meals are best eaten at the restaurant and not from a tupperware box I guess. This was around 6:12 pm and within an hour, I was fasting again.

PatPat did another readiness check between 8:30-9 pm. A couple of centimetres dilated this time. So still not active labour. Those weren’t his words but it’s what I deduced from his well-pieced explanation of what needed to happen. The decision then was whether to stay or leave to the comfort of home and familiar surroundings. The pain was still quite sharp and your mother had been on gas and air for at least a couple of hours to shave the edge off. I had the same. It was helping some. But the dilemma was not having it at home. So we stayed an extra half hour or so to see if she could cope without it. And then we left.

I think it was 11:01 pm when I checked the time on the car dashboard. She had a bath while I crash-landed in bed. After a minute, she woke me up with “…[something something] hospital”. “Ok”, I said and got up speedily. Her waters had broken and the pain was worse than before. Yes. Worse. I got our loose bits together and we set off a few minutes after 3 am.

The roads were empty and the only thing that worried me was her pain. But I held it together and just kept repeating we were almost there. I hand-walked her into reception and left to park the car.

The valet was sleeping comfortably. I envied him for a second. It was the same guy who checked me out earlier that evening, still struggling to keep his pants up. No underwear either. “Oga, just get a belt nau” is what I thought. But he was super nice. And so had all the staff there if I’m being truthful. Africans are just so… welcoming. It’s our gift and our curse. We small talked about the sex of the baby and so on.

It was a different nurse and a different room at Portland Hospital. But Carine who had seen us prior was able to swap. So we’re in familiar great hands. There’s just been a handover to a lady from New Zealand. Chris her name is. She’s a talker this one so we’ve been chatting. We just heard a story about a lady from Khazakstan who dripped her newborn in Dolce and Gabbana, got it in gold shoes (for a one-year-old) and forced the nurse to say nice things about her baby because her friends were present and she was recording… A nothing story. Much of the exchange has been much about nothing really. But she’s nice. And that’s more than enough.

Ah! I also spoke to your grandmother to reassure her. Liza’s since had an epidural, a canola pumping salts into her veins. The latter was begging for a joke so I made one about going to the sea. Laughter and applause all round. Thank you, thank you.

Your mother slept some and is now in a seated bed position. PatPat should be making an appearance shortly. And speaking of the devil angels…

I like this guy a lot. His chilled personality is perfect for us. We need someone calm but knowledgeable. After asking about us, I asked him how he was doing. We talked about his career, delivering his first baby in 1990 and about ten a week since… He’s great.

It’s now 10 am on the dot. I’ve been writing in between things, either helping your mother, holding her hand or assisting the medical staff with various procedures. Liza’s asleep and “contracting beautifully”. You’ll need all her energy later so best if she rests now.

I also messaged Rozalia and replied to Kim who was worried (as she hasn’t seen our car in a while). She wanted to know if we needed anything. By the way, we have the best neighbours on earth – Kim, Tom and their little girl Lennon, Vanessa and her dog, and Georgia and Jamie. We’re super lucky in that sense and look after each other.