…and so we wait.
The hospital’s alright. We know that because it’s so crowded. There wouldn’t be such a huge demand for its services otherwise.
Based on my experiences those times I’ve accompanied my wife to a check up, Monday mornings are worst. Friday midday and early afternoon isn’t too bad, although the lack of newspapers at the kiosk in the main lobby was a worry. Still, I got me a paper. See, the waiting is so interminable for those of us there in a support role that reading material is essential for me. And then the waiting reached the point where I wandered out of the hospital grounds and down to the nearest newsagents for a couple of magazines. Hospitals of this nature have an awful lot of doors bearing signs saying things like “no men beyond this point”, or even “no family members”.
Naturally enough, considering this hospital’s specialty, there’s a multitude of women in various stages of gravidity, from barely bumpy bellies up to centre of gravity thrown way off and moving oddly in order to maintain balance. But somehow today seemed to feature a lot more little warmly-wrapped bundles bearing tiny, bamboozled, overwhelmed and incredibly sleepy-looking babies. Still, considering how much there is to take in when one has just popped out into this world, it’s no suprise how these newborns looked. Indeed, considering the massive sensory overload a newborn must experience, let alone all the indignities a baby must suffer, it’s probably a good thing that it takes so long for babies to start developing memories.
And I had the good fortune to be born on what is by global standards a goodly-sized island in a country that had at that point maybe 3 million people and roughly 20 times as many sheep. The sheep population has since shrunk drastically, while the human population is roughly a fifth that of Beijing. And here we are waiting for our firstborn…
Waiting. 40 weeks and counting, and the only problem the doctors saw today was that there’s no sign of this baby popping out to meet us in the next few days.
