Grandchild 6, Eventually

Tuesday. A clear sky, a fine Autumnal time. Leaves that fall are all gold, on the branches green keeps hold. Mist in the morning, rolling on the river. The afternoon bright, mild, cooling. Grandchild 2 at the school door, talking-talking, she forgot her bag, she goes back for it. There's an apple sale but our freezer is full, pockets empty. Never mind, she gets hugs from her friends on the stroll to the car, talking-talking, see her reading book, it's called ‘My Mum Is Going To Explode!’ No baby news yet, for this Almost Big Sister. She is happy, staying with grandparents, staying up late, going training, and her old friend Dog to boss about.
Tuesday is fine, though no Mum exploded. Modern medicine has not prevailed.

Wednesday. Grandad put sugar on the last bowl of cereal. Grandchild 2 is not a sugar fan - she has a poached egg replacement. (Hopefully she didn't put the breakfast mistake in her journal.) Grandad makes his second redemption by showing her how to press apples - apple juice she likes, even if it’s sweet. She brings Granma a cup to try. But she is missing Mummy. Granma checks her phone, again, again. Nothing doing, explosion-wise. Some uncomfortable belly tectonics. Not enough to pop.
So, Sister-to-be goes training again, though bumping her foot makes her cry (it wouldn't usually) she is soon mended by a stint of mini-trampolining.
Plus, we fetch her dog to stay with us. Her adorable-overwhelming Huggy Labrador.

Thursday. House has a tide of dog fur. House has a forceful tide of dog. House has a tired, over excited child. (House is also the venue for a business meeting. Somehow some sense is made. And cups of tea. And many apologies, including the constant phone watching.)
Mummy has not exploded yet.
Grandchild 2 and Granma get in a car. They drive to Exeter, to visit the un-detonated Mum. Mum sits on the hospital bed, round as a pomegranate. They will put her on a drip soon, she says, but there's a queue for the labour ward. It sounds so polite.
Granma has to teach so they leave, waving to the window where the Mummy and Daddy are waving back; looking to the pink coating on clouds.
‘Shepherd’s delight! Pink sky at night!’
Later they drive home, goggling a full moon.

Friday. Starts with accustomed mellow mist. Sun and clear sky. A trip to the park (while the car gets new tyres, the tracking is off, the ramp broken, we have to go garage chasing to get that booked in, one of those days) brings climbing challenges, triumphs, a close view of a squirrel, a pocketful of acorns. Also motion sickness for Granma - filming on a roundabout, she should know better!
On the way home ingredients are purchased. Before that fun can begin, dogs must be walked, and a bear hunted and tales told, out in the big wide fields.
A pumpkin is carved, soup simmered, pizza faces made, and cooked and ate, and cards played.
Tonight training is on too late, so the Almost Big Sister goes to Nanny's house to wait.
Granma drops her there. She goes home. She has a nap. She has a shower.
She is not checking the phone, not for a few minutes. So that, of course, is when the message comes through.
Grandchild 6! No further medication required, she was ready to pop herself out.
Never mind late. It's Friday anyway - after work everyone goes to meet her, the little bundle that would not be shifted.

Will you always be this stubborn? Granma asks.
The little one opens her eyes.
Yes, she's going to fit in just fine.

Prenatal Ward Family Portrait