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One born every minute

  • 32 weeks today
  • Baby boy
  • Name TBC
  • Mood of significant other : Frustrated. A callous sneeze has resulted in a complete outfit change as we prepare for the cinema.

In preparation for the ‘big day’, I thought it would be useful to get my head around the gory yet beautiful event that draws closer by the minute. Up until gasping at that piss soaked stick of life altering terror, I’ve never really dwelled on the actual task of labour so I decided to do my research. A good friend of mine described labour like ‘a scene from saving Private Ryan’. I assume he is referring to the blood tainted screams of intense panic, and not the heroic yet unjustified attempt to retrieve a young Matt Damon.


If you Google ‘Child birth’, it automatically pulls up thousands of horror stories and tales of woe. I once stumbled across an image of a lady in Zambia, casually giving birth to a 10lb baby while milking a goat. Hats off to the girl, I still can’t pat my head and rub my belly at the same time. As we have no use for a goat, I decided to watch ‘One born every minute’ to gage a more realistic scope of Western practice. If you’ve never watched it, it’s basically a documentary of the final moments of pregnancy covering anything from C-sections, Epidurals, water births and beyond.



It’s more intense than a Donald Trump handshake, it really is. I often start watching the programme slouched on the sofa, making a comment about the complete lack of teeth or the ridiculous name the expecting couple have prepared. However by the end of it, I’m usually reduced to tears when a little bundle of joy appears and the family pull together like a toothless set of ‘the Waltons’. It’s not an easy watch though, I often shriek in trepidation while the camera pans on some poor buggers vagina as it yawns like a blue whale.



As vivid and potentially scarring as it may be, the programme has given me a much better idea on what to expect. It has also taught me that no matter how hungry I am, I should NEVER leave the labour suite for a ham and cheese panini (A lad actually did this on the last episode I watched). I can’t understand though why anyone would want to have a baby without any pain relief or assistance. I applaud all Woman in child birth, no matter how the baby is delivered. Although if I was attempting to lay an egg the size of a watermelon, I’d probably insist on a sedative strong enough to knock out Anthony Joshua.


Quick recap

  • 8 weeks to go.
  • The baby is the size of a jicama (I have no idea what a jicama is).
  • The room is now littered with nappies, wipes, bottles and baby-grows.
  • My array of 80’s short shorts has been discarded to make room for cute socks and tiny trainers. Robyn continues to troop on through all adversity and minor urinal accidents.

Please, feel free to wish us luck, and give this a SHARE.
Also, follow the PINTS TO PRAMS Facebook for more on our trepid adventure of inevitable, joyful doom.

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