Today we had our first sign that our little girl isn't too far away: A slightly bloody 'show' - a sign that my cervix is thinning to allow her an easier exit.
Not a panic in itself, but when coupled with the painful Braxton Hicks practise contractions from last night and persistent lower back-ache it was a slight worry. The reassuring midwife confirmed what I already knew: I could go into labour tomorrow or in the next few weeks!
What this has done is start a ripple of activity from here to the Isle of Wight: Here, I'm scrubbing because the cleaner has been AWOL for a fortnight and we've practised putting the car seat in the car; but more importantly, on the Island my Mummy and Sister are getting the crib ready (Amy putting my neice in a cot and Mummy re-dressing the crib and frantically knitting).
Perhaps this is what our little girl was after.
(The funny thing is if I'd gone into labour last night it really would have been Sod's Law - RD had been out for his last boozy night before his self-imposed labour-standby drinking ban, he'd returned suitably hammered and passed out. He barely managed to slur 'youok' and hold my hand before passing out again - he was spectacularly useless. Now I understand the need for the drinking caution!)
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