The best things are worth waiting for

And so the weekend passed baby-less and I was back to work on Monday morning, much to my workmate's surprise and chagrin (there was a sweepstake, remember). Michele and I kept reassuring ourselves with the knowledge that most first babies were late. In fact, our midwife had told us that most first babies are, on average, 8 days late. Not that knowing this helped much, but we kept saying "Well, we knew it would probably be late..." while casting reproving looks at Michele's swollen belly.

Talking of which, it's amazing how saying something innocent at the wrong time can cause offence. Michele was big, there was no doubt, but the number of times someone we knew commented "Oooh, you are big!" was amazing and, at first, funny. Michele knew she was big with her baby, but didn't want to be told that she was big. This was best summed up when, one day in the hospital shop, one of the staff said "I saw your wife the other day, she isn't half looking big!", to which another lady added, quietly, "Don't tell her that though...."

Because I like to be as prepared as I can, I suggested that Michele and I have a talk about what to do if things went... well, wrong. I like to think of myself as a fairly happy, optimistic fella, but there was no doubt that something could go wrong on the day and we could end up being consoled instead of congratulated. It was always someone else's problem before but now, being nearly parents ourselves, it was a very real possibility. Luckily for me, Michele is also a happy, optimistic person but also has a (fairly) sensible head on her shoulders, and agreed to talk about it.

Just considering something as awful as stillbirth was actually quite upsetting, given that we had seen our baby grow into a little peson inside Michele. I used to work with someone who had a framed picture of a baby on his desk. When I asked after the baby, I was told that he had been stillborn and, although my work colleague had had other children since then, he still kept that picture as a tribute to his little boy's memory. I remember feeling very sad, not knowing what it feels like to lose a child like that, and hoping that I'd never know.

I'm a firm believer in organ donation, and Michele and I discussed the implications of this. We decided that if the worst happened, we would give permission for organ donation, taking a little comfort in knowing that our baby bravely helped another little boy or girl live. It was a sad thing to talk about but I was glad when we both agreed on this. With this subject out of the way, we could concentrate on all of the positive and exciting aspects of the birth.

Like names.

I'm constantly surprised at how some parents get in a tizz about naming their baby, leaving it till the last moment. I mean, come on folks, you've only had nine whole months to talk about this! I know that's probably harsh of me, but it's almost like those people who wait for ages at a bus stop, only to pull out their purse just as the bus pulls up. Why not get the money out earlier, and stop me getting angry as I wait for you to count out your pennies...??

Grrr. Sorry about that, went off-topic there for a bit.

Names.

We both decided that we wouldn't inflict a "trendy" name on our child. "Apple Turnover Powell" or "Dingbat Zoobrush Powell" just didn't seem to fit. No, we'd need a more conventional name, but nothing too boring. It only just began to strike me what a monumentous decision this was, as what we named our baby would help to shape their character as well as affect how others perceived them.

We finally settled for Thomas Oliver for a boy and Emily Alice for a girl. As far as we knew, there were no Thomas', Olivers, Emilys or Alices in the immediate family so they would be "fresh" names. I was also aware that the boy's initials would be T.O.P, so he would always be "top"! I thought it was funny. "Eap" for a girl didn't have as much meaning but as least could be pronounced as a word, unlike my names - Mark Nicholas Powell.

We stuck with these until about two weeks before the due date, when I suddenly said "What about Harry?" to Michele. "Umm, I like that" came the reply and that was that. TOP became HOP.

Truth is, we had names from Day One - the day we found out we were expecting. Befitting his/her stage of development, we christened our baby "Blob" at first. After seeing the first ultrasound scan, we could not longer call it a blob, so had to think again. As Michele was showing know, the second name came easily - "Bump". And so it remained until the final scan, when we saw much more detail - jaw line, spine, nose, feet, fingers. We were now looking at a little human, and so "Bump" became "Little One", the last pre-birth name.

Which brings me nicely full circle, to the birth.