In actuality, if he had come anywhere near me with that thing I’d have whacked him – or myself – around the head with it...

From ‘The Undercover Mother’

The contractions started on Thursday evening. Jenny was naively expectant.

‘This must be it!’

It wasn’t too bad: just a niggle, really. Where was her notebook? She needed to be ready to note down anything funny or interesting that was bloggable.

Dan made himself useful, bringing her a hot water bottle and writing down the times of the contractions as they got closer together.

It was starting to get uncomfortable. She was expecting pain, of course. Even Antenatal Sally had admitted that much. Time to crack out the TENS machine and hook herself up.

Now it was really beginning to hurt. Maybe she would be one of those women who had a really fast birth?

‘How far apart are they?’

Dan checked his notes. ‘Ten minutes. When you get to five minutes, I’ll call the hospital.’ Thank God. It wouldn’t be long now.

But then the contractions got further apart again. Then closer. Then further apart.

This wasn’t right. There was no pattern to them at all. And why was it going on for so bloody long?

Dan created an Excel spreadsheet of her contraction times. He even had time to make a graph.

The pain was unbearable. Jenny tore off the useless TENS machine. ‘Call the hospital,’ she growled.

But the midwife on the end of the telephone wasn’t even interested in talking to them until the contractions were regular and only a few minutes apart. ‘Take some paracetamol,’ she advised.

‘What does she tell people with a broken leg?’ Jenny spat. ‘Kiss it bloody better?’

When she couldn’t bear it any longer, they decided to drive to the hospital. ‘Bring the novelty handcuffs from my hen night,’ she told Dan, ‘and I’ll chain myself to the reception desk if I have to.’

On the drive there, Dan tried to make Jenny laugh by suggesting they make a detour to buy a Dictaphone, as she wasn’t making notes any more. He wouldn’t be making that joke a second time.

The corridor which led to the maternity wing was eerily quiet. Jenny was only halfway along it before she had to lean against the wall as another contraction seared her body. Dan looked worried. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Just. Need. To. Breathe.’

A capable-looking woman appeared at the end of the corridor and came to take her arm. Jenny let out a long sigh of relief: everything was going to be all right now. They would take her to the Acorn birthing suite, let her splash around in one of the birthing pools she’d heard about, plug in her music and everything would continue as planned.

Except, it didn’t.

The small room on the maternity assessment ward contained a bed and a rather scary-looking trolley full of electronics. The midwife asked Jenny a few questions, took her temperature and frowned.