THE BIRTH

Maria and I arrived at the hospital at around 5am - neither of us are superstitious but we remarked on the happy coincidence that this was the hour when our son Sam was born.

While Maria's labour with Sam was the marathon to end marathons, we were hopeful that the same scenario would not occur this time. After all, everything appeared to be happening naturally, while with Sam the whole process had to be induced.

Maria was examined and disappointment suddenly pervaded. The midwife reported that she was only 2cm dilated - she had only reached base camp on her own personal mountain climb.

I could tell she was worried - the pains had not increased at the rate expected and here we were again with Maria attached to a machine measuring the `tap, tap, tap` of the unborn baby's heartbeat waiting for something to happen. It was deja-vu, here I was again willing my wife to go into indescribable agony feeling absolutely powerless. All I could do was wait and encourage - time seemed to stand still.

We walked up and down the same corridors we had visited 19 months before in an attempt to get things moving. Maria had a bath to try to ease her nerves and, finally (12 hours later), we were at action stations.

I'm a writer but I cannot begin to do justice to what happened over the next 12 hours - it was the most agonising time of our lives. With Sam, Maria had to have a Caesarean section (due to the position of the baby), this time - as she had wanted - the labour was natural. Maria was determined to avoid an epidural because she believed it could slow the labour and make another Caesarean more likely, but the emotion and sheer pain she went through seemed to take her to the brink of her endurance. 

Millimetre by millimetre she got closer but, when the time came to push, she reached a wall. "I can't do this!" Maria yelled. There was no way we could turn back now, though, and I begged her for one last effort.

How she did it I don't know. I defy any man to understand how a woman could cope with such stress - the experience left me in a state of shock.

"It's a girl," said the midwife, pointing to the obvious form of identification. I remember thinking `of course it is`, but only uttering a pathetic "I know," with pure relief... A moment later, joy overwhelmed me.

The midwife offered some form of surgical implement in my direction: "Would you like to cut the cord?" Me? I stumbled forward and with clenched teeth I gingerly severed the physical link between Maria and the baby. 

I looked across at Maria - who looked as exhausted as any human being can. I reported the good news and she just glowed. "That's lovely," was her bizarre response, a particular expression I had never heard her say and haven't heard since. 

Come back next week to find out what happens next!