1. My midwife warned me that everyone will have an opinion about the size of my bump. "Don't worry about it," she said. "They don't know a thing." Today, one person tells me that I'm looking big; and another tells me I'm looking small -- both intended as compliments, rather than expressions of concern.
2. The mother brings supper, and then takes us to a tour of our nearest hospital. I'm glad to not cook for myself -- and I'm very grateful that she can give us a lift on such a wet and horrible night.
3. The midwife who shows us round tells us that she has six children, and that her husband says her badge should read "Madwife". She tells us that we only have to deal with one contraction at a time -- "You can do anything for 60 seconds, can't you -- that's all they are, 60 seconds." A lot of faces relax and lighten. Later she tells us that the first nappy is black and tarry. "It gets everywhere. Then they kick, and it's all over their little feet. Messy." I whisper to Nick that of course he can have the honour of doing the first nappy.
4. In the home-from-home suite, there is a woman in the first stages of labour. When Nick sees the size of her bump, he vows to step up the stretch mark cream routine.