7.22 am Monday morning
Daughter has been in labour since Saturday afternoon. I just phoned the hospital and all they would tell me is that 'she's fine' and they hope to have some news soon.
Fine? Is that a euphemism for knackered?
I've already done the ironing this morning and I'm about to clean the living room. Charlie Cat attacks me every time I walk past so that I'm a nervous wreck, I have no finger or toe nails left, and I'm just the gran-in-waiting. How must mum feel?
God, please let it be soon and safe.
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