For many, the act of conception involves soft lighting, softer music and copious quantities of sparkling wine. For ourselves it involved test tubes, microscopes and the occasional Petri dish. It is a sad reality but IVF brings with it all the whimsical romance that you'd normally associate with an outbreak of cholera... without the exotic locations. This is hardly their fault but it does take away something, especially for the bloke who is often made to feel like a pork saugage at a Jewish wedding. Everyone there knows that you have a role but you can't help but feel that that fact is regarded as an annoyance and that there are scientists beavering away in the lab determined to circumvent you altogether.
Fortunately the IVF was ultimately sucessful, although it took 3 attempts and played merry hell with our emotions, but after seven years of trying, it finally kicked in and Leanne fell pregnant.
I must confess that I found the whole pregnancy lark distinctly underwhelming. The scans were all very interesting and watching Leanne get bigger and bigger until she started walking like a duck was a source of mild amusement but the rest was all a bit too intangible for me; a moving bump and a noise that sounds like a wet heart beat are all well and good but it was hardly going to set my world on fire.
Leanne on the other hand seemed to love it. She was perfectly happy to spend an entire evening sitting on the sofa watching her belly move up and down as the baby moved and couldn’t understand why I was failing to grasp the joy and wonder of it all. I tried to point out that, from the outside, it just looked as if she had really bad wind, but apparently that was just me being an unimaginative grump.
Anyway, the big day arrived... then it went. Apparently this is nothing unusual and sure enough, 4 days after the due date Leanne started getting contractions.