Supplementary to the 2.00 am report above... we have of course been attempting all the dark arts available to us to bring on the birth. Raspberry tea, pineapple, playing Twister. Actually just kidding about the Twister, Anne's uber-bump and my status as a three-limbed Mancunian make all such physical activities risky, to say the least; which is why we haven't tried the oldest of all the old wives tales in our attempts to get Maddie's birth started.
One thing we tried yesterday was a romp around Fletcher Moss gardens in Didsbury. The idea being that a lengthy walk, feeding of ducks, the sight of chunky fellas playing rugby in near zero temperatures and some derelict properties on Stenner Lane would be more than enough to get the whole show on the road. No birth resulted, but we did get assaulted by a very load and large flock of seagulls (no, not the band) and geese who nicked all the bread. We managed to feed one duck, three geese and about 50 seagulls... ah well.Finally, a quick word on the male use of plural pronouns as childbirth approaches. Having just been castigated yet again by one of our mates for phrases like 'we thought something was happening during the night' or 'we'd better take it easy to day' is NOT an attempt by a surreptitious patriarch to steal the thunder and the primeval magic of childbirth from the woman who of course is doing all the work... I know I only had an early bit part in this particularly joyous drama... honest... an heroic part of course, perhaps with rhyming couplets and a doublet and hose... ahem... : )
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