Six years ago baby 2 came – happy day

Almost six years ago, I had the drive of my life. Six years? Goodness. The older you get, the more time flies by. Right then, I wallowed in agonised self-pity from playing daft and over-vigorous American Football with a grandson. In fact, I’d probably get more sympathy with man-flu (zero at best). Ouch, every aching part of me justified the late breakfast. In considerable pain, okay-okay, self-inflicted, I moved, groaned and eased my backside into a chair.

When your first baby drops her dummy, you sterilize it. When your second baby drops her dummy, you tell the dog: ‘Fetch!’. Bruce Lansky

Pesky phone

In fact, I must have looked a bit like Welshman Dan Biggar preparing for a kick. Sometimes we older guys do foolish things. In my case, I’d been over-stretching myself throwing an American Football. At the table, I’d no sooner got my left elbow planted exactly right and almost pain-free when the phone rang. Our lad’s name appeared on the screen. I put him on speaker. ‘It may have started.’ His mum jerked upright: tuned-in, sharp, ready for action.

His tone communicated all. ‘It’s probably nothing.’ Truth to tell, he didn’t believe it, and neither did we.

Early daze

‘Yes, it’s probably a bit early.’ All the same, what he heard was a calm maternal voice. At my end, I saw his mother, a ball of energetic love who expected action. On to the rollercoaster we went!

If you need lessons in sounding calm, I’m your man. ‘Want us to pop over … just in case?’

‘Yes, please, if you’re free.’ Free? Free! Isn’t that so British? Sooo polite? Not exactly an I’m-too-busy moment. Five and three-quarter years on, nothing has changed, except (February 2022) the next one is due very soon.

Rocket Gal

Beside me, a far from easy-going mother/grandmother sat, perhaps I should say vibrated, fuse well lit. Imagine being on the launch pad when a moon rocket achieves pre-ignition. ‘We’ll be over soon.’

‘Thanks.’ Somehow, you always know what a quick click of disconnection means. Barely an hour’s drive away, I could sense Dad, two-year-old tucked under his arm, rushing back to the action.

Meanwhile, a conference

Inevitably, our considered discussions lasted 30 seconds and ended with a plan–I’d drive. Whoosh, a tornado left to grab an overnight bag (or three?). Aches? What aches? The dash began. All of six years ago? My word.

From the outside, their house looked peaceful, but with an unlocked door—unusual. Once inside, a bouncy two-year-old charged into my arms for a hug in giddy excitement about … something. Weary-faced, Dad said a quick ‘hi, help yourself to drinks’ and performed the upstairs two-step. Greased lightning? Sort of … only faster. My playmate grabbed for my glasses.

Electric calm, wild excitement

Naturally enough, granny and I made a too-normal coffee, with the electric calmness of the wildly excited. In moments I played the serene grandpa, half-reading a story to a wriggle-bottomed toddler as Granny rushed upstairs. Looking back six years, I didn’t mind holding the baby.

No Pressure

Just to ease the pressure, Dad came in. ‘We think the baby might be coming. The contractions are getting closer.’

‘Right.’ (I thought: maybe it’ll settle down, we are a couple of weeks out after all.)

‘Mum says you’re going back fairly soon.’

‘I’ll just be a spare part…’ nothing personal, I know my place … ‘Tell me about the contractions.’

‘Every two minutes.’

‘That’s quick.’

‘I can call a taxi if you need to get back.’ Fool! My redundancy is after the arrival.

I withheld a pithy comment or two for later. ‘Taxi? Don’t be daft. I’ll get you guys to the hospital.’ It’s a simple job; sound calm, and suck up the pressure. ‘What’s all this twaddle about due-in-a-couple-of-weeks?’

Hamilton? Fangio? not exactly

Ten minutes later, we turned right across hectic traffic, parents in the back. Mum-to-be moaning in an agonised, primal rhythm.

Fast as safety allowed, we dashed citywards. From the back, more groans murmured. With each spasm, the car seat beside me took a few kicks and the floor pan banged from stamping. Glancing up, I saw the pain in my mirror. Dad was ever so supportive of his moaning wife, a lovely man.

A trusted driver, I negotiated corners in cool control. In heavy traffic across a busy city, we contended with road works and stupid driving. At one point, I started barking fruity advice at a tosspot. Imagine, six-years ago half-forgotten expletives burst from emotional lips. Goodness, did a speed camera flash?

Obstruction

As part of this exquisite dance, my emotions rose. Please, God, make everything okay. A drawn-out wail from the back eased off, soothed by a gentle baritone murmur. We turned right onto the key main road, and the ***** Council had dug it up. Detour. Frustrated wrath. Intemperate words. Calm down—my job is safe delivery.

Right turn. Right Place?

‘Where’s the entrance?’ I received conflicting instructions. AHHHRRRgh! Fortunately, my calm duck stayed on the surface. Not a ripple. ‘No worries.’ At last, we stopped at a big sliding door. OMG, another just like it stood 30 yards away; as another groan and reedy puffs of breath added pressure,  I jumped out. ‘Stay there, I’ll check.’

The door mechanism worked well. A nurse walked by. ‘I’m having a baby in the car.’

The medic diagnosed me with half a smile and pointed. ‘Wrong door. Delivery is over there.’

Seconds later, we arrived. Mum and Dad climbed out with great care and, arm-in-arm, entered the reception area. I lifted the rear door as Dad reappeared for the luggage. With a casual swing of my hand, I shooed him away: ‘Go look after your wife, I’ll fetch this.’

At the reception desk, Mum leaned on the counter, huffing and puffing like a steam train. Once more surplus, I parked the luggage. With little fuss, I reached across and rubbed Mum’s wrist. Our eyes connected, ‘love you.’

I walked away to distracted murmurs of thanks fading away. Imagine me, John-Wayne-like to the end, no longer needed, strolling away in total, manly, control.

Big boys don’t cry? Well maybe, even six years ago

Back in the car, I wept from the emotional charge, the pure joy of a family event and other stuff I’m not sure about—thoughts, anyone?

Later that day, six years ago, the parents and baby returned home, pictures of health. As for me, by then a confirmed (and not sad about it) spare part, I drove home and toasted the new arrival a few times.

Of course, Granny stayed and fulfilled more of her life’s purpose. Alone, happy with my bit-part, I played a long game of love, daftness and being there at the right time. Before long, I had another chance to connect with family … ouch!

© Mac Logan