So it’s probably not the best idea to read labour horror stories right now. Because all I can think about now are words like “pain”, “trying not to swear”, “tearing” and “stitching”.
But I chanced upon this old blog and read the gruesome details of an actual birth with morbid fascination. And yes, I know it’s all worth it at the end, but geez. Now I’m thinking about who I can call if Tony passes out in the middle of stupendously ouchy contractions, or if I can single-handedly bundle an unconscious grown man into the back seat, and then blitz down Tuggeranong Parkway to Woden in a 13-year-old manual car, while dilated at 6cm. You know, just in case Calvary’s maternity ward happens to be on fire.
But then I read the blog the husband built, and his thoughts about the days ahead, and then it was meltsville. See, this is why fathers-to-be should blog more.
Finding The Happy 