Bridget Jones's Baby (19 page)

F
RIDAY 16
M
ARCH

7 a.m. My flat.
Baby is due tomorrow. Am so excited.

S
ATURDAY 17
M
ARCH

9 p.m. My flat.
Baby still has not come.

M
ONDAY 19
M
ARCH

Babies: 0

W
EDNESDAY 21
M
ARCH

5 p.m. My flat.
Baby
still
has not come. Feel like toddler sent to sit on potty and failing to produce poo, while adults wait, increasingly frostily, outside bathroom door. Maybe I actually am an elephant. Maybe it's going to take two years.

T
HURSDAY 22
M
ARCH

4 p.m. My flat.
Baby has not come. Is getting really uncomfortable now: like having a frozen ostrich inside me.

Maybe he's suddenly just going to
burst out
like the Alien and eat his way through my stomach and loom out as a fully formed toddler asking for his iPad and yelling, “I just want to finish this levellllllll!”

F
RIDAY 23
M
ARCH

7 a.m. My flat.
“We can always go get a curry?” I said hopefully to Mark, as he prepared to leave for work.

“Nooo! Not curry. I'm scarred for life by burning foam and curry. Why don't you just get a bit more…ready.”

8 a.m.
OK. Will check packing again. Maybe I need a fifth bag, just a small holdall for…Ooh, telephone!

“Oh darling, I'm so excited. The Queen is going to be here this afternoon. I can't believe it's actually happening. Any sign? You know, I was thinking about you and Mark mentioning ‘William' for the name; it's a bit samey, isn't it? What about Maddox? You know Shiloh is Heaven spelt backwards. Isn't that super?”

“Super,” I said, dully, writing SHILOH on a Post-it note. “No, it isn't. It's Holish.”

“Don't be silly, darling. It's not Polish. Have you tried that cod liver oil yet? Ooh must run! The Lord Lieutenant's here! Bridget! I'm going to actually sit next to the Queen!”