Yes. 8 weeks ago, we read the magic words ‘Pregnant’ on the little magic stick that can tell these things. It was, according to the intellectually stimulating marketing campaign, ‘The most sophisticated thing you’ll ever pee on…’. Nice. (Although they are assuming there that you haven’t peed on Stephen Fry. Not that I have, you understand. I just think that there are probably more sophisticated things out there on which one may urinate. Should one wish to, that is.). Further magic sticks told us the same thing. So, instead of believing them, and as is convention, we went to the doctor. His medically-trained opinion was that, as the magic stick had told us so, my wife had to be pregnant.
Well done Medical School.
So, now our lives have been inexplicable changed. There is a whole lot more sick, tiredness and new clothes in the house. And the baby isn’t due until February.
I’d say that, at the moment, I’m 90% excited, 10% terrified. But 100% over the moon.
I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. My theory is that, if it’s a boy, it’ll want to play rugby (hey, it’ll be my son, of course it’ll like rugby!), so that’ll be good. If it’s a girl, she’ll like playing rugby until social convention tells her that she should be more interested in mascara and ponies, and by then it’ll be too late, she’ll be her own person and want to play rugby anyway. And the pool from which they pick international rugby players is much smaller for women, so I’m more likely to have a Welsh cap in the family! As it’s due to arrive just before Wales play Italy in next year’s Six Nations, it obviously wants to make sure the first match it sees is a Welsh win!
(Maybe we should use the first try-scorer as an idea for a name…actually, maybe not, Castrogiovanni Wynne might take a while for it to learn.)
So, I’m going to be a Dad. And my wonderful wife is going to make an amazing Mum. And a whole new adventure is unfolding before us…