Was it really October when I last wrote about the upcoming arrival? I mean October??!! That was what, five full months ago.

Well, one can grab the clock from the wall and wrestle those pesky hands to a standstill, but somehow time still slips silently though your clenched fists until the day arrives and you realise you’re going to be a father in a month. Maybe less.

Kath is of course looking beautiful, astonishing, incredible, as I imagine most people reading this would already know. Or maybe not. You never see a pregant woman - I mean really see them - until you’re an active participant. Well I never did anyway. Yes, big lovely tummies full of naturally selected miracle is always amazing. But you don’t find your eyes welling with tears of joy for that nice lady on a train you gave a seat to, you don’t quake with fear at the thought of your Auntie’s upcoming labour, and you certainly don’t find yourself wondering who it is you’ll be after your sister’s first born arrives.

Of course I’ll still be myself, who else would I be, right? Well, yeah, but there’s this other voice, the one that says this moment, this upcoming event is the making of me as an adult. At 34, it’s probably well overdue that I let that occur, but isn’t it odd? Getting a job wasn’t growing up, getting married wasn’t growing up… hell, buying a leather couch and a new fridge with my wife was damn close, but still not growing up. But with the impending arrival, with all the life changes, and all the preparation, I can feel that this really is it. Neverland is no longer my place. But hey, I’m hoping I can get work as a tour guide for the kid.

So this last week in particular, I’ve been stressing, and stress - I have discovered, can be a very physical thing. Rampant and constant vertigo, headaches, pains in the chest, the urge to break stuff or just let the damn tears flow and flow. Kath has been patient. In fact, very wisely, she has mostly left me to my own devices and let the thing run its course, simply advising that I rest and talk to my friends. (You know who you are, and thanks for listening.)

In labour there are stages. Pre labour is marked by the early and increasing contractions, while full labour is that phase in which the pushing really starts. But between these stages is the twilight zone known as “transition.” Strange things happen, reality twists, the woman becomes sharply focussed while yet still in her own primal birthing world. She thinks that the pain has become unbearable, that her ability to continue has deserted her. The reality is she is now ready, more ready than ever to push and push and make that last heroic effort in the marathon that is birthing.

Thinking about all this, and in particular thinking back to a quote from a book of birth stories I’ve been reading… “A couple’s first child represents three births - a child, a mother and a father…” I can see how the analogy fits perfectly. I am a father being born, and i have passed through my own version of transition. Yes, the real work is ahead - but the panic is passing and I’m ready to go. I know Kath is too.

I don’t update here very often, but I’m sure I’ll be writing up the full birth story when I have one. No doubt at some crazy hour of the morning between feeds.