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The immortal words of Murray Walker. Not exactly Formula 1. Probably closer to Formula milk. But Cunning Plan no. 365 was invoked last night with surprising success. After the number of failed attempts to induce labour this week, any success was going to be surprising.
The first week of the Formula 1 calendar. A weekend's motor racing at Albert Park, Melbourne. The early and late season races are so annoying -you can't seem them live because of the time difference and you end up overhearing the results on the news the following day before you've had a chance to watch the re-runs. The new qualifying rules and mixed weather had thrown the grid into turmoil with Schumacher at the back, and the first couple of races always throw a few upsets with new cars and new drivers. If only I had an excuse to be up at 3:00am....
After a couple of false alerts towards the end of last week, I had concluded that dog walks and curry alone just weren't cutting it. But combined? I'd planned an afternoon's walk, followed by a trip to B&Q. Pushing a trolley up and down the aisles was bound to have an effect. All followed up with another curry. Surely this must do the job. So the plan was set. Kath would finish the Murgh Haleem and roll around in fits of ginger induced contractions. By 3:00am, she'd be in full swing and I could watch the Australian Grand Prix, whilst fetching extra pillows and making cups of tea.
However, I was overruled and Kath weighed in with a plan so subtle, that it would never have crossed my mind. So cunning, that Baldric would have pinned a tail on it and called it a fox. Having said this, she still wanted the curry.
"What we need to do", she said in a matter of fact sort of way, "is change the bedding". This went completely over my head. I couldn't under stand - was is it the colour or the pattern that the labour objected to? Or maybe it was the smell....
"Psychology" she said. "If we put on clean bedding, my waters will break and make a horrible mess. The clean bedding will have to go straight in the washing machine. It's obvious!"
Inspired. I was speechless. Although I did adapt the plan slightly by allowing her to change the bedding herself. The extra stretching could only help, after all.
I was awoken with a sudden gush. Well, not exactly. The plan had worked! As the waters cascading across the bedroom floor, I checked my alarm clock. It was 4:00am. An hour late. Ah well, I suppose you can't have everything. I can always catch the Grand Prix in the afternoon's rerun.
Kath phoned the hospital. "Oh yes, come in as soon as you can and we'll check you over". At 5:45am we arrived at the maternity ward. The midwife confirmed the events of the morning, and that Bump was well. "We'll keep an eye on how things progress over the next couple of hours. Just lie back and watch the TV". The TV was duly switched on, only to display the final Grand Prix results on the News. After a period of monitoring, it was decided that Bump was in no hurry to make an appearance, and the best thing to do would be to wait it out at home. "If nothing happens, come back in at 9:00am tomorrow and we'll induce you", the midwife said.
Now the clock really is ticking. Here starteth the longest day....
