“Every sitcom, rom-com and chick-flick lied,” thought Peter.
There was no inappropriate breaking of the waters, frantic taxi rides or giving birth in the car park. No milling throng of family waiting for the proud father to emerge from the delivery suite like a prophet in scrubs announcing the good news that a son had been born. Instead, there was the interminable waiting of fourteen hours of labour, followed by a brief period of unspeakable profanities and finally, a delivery. Now there was the silence of a husband and wife cradled into each other with a small, wrinkly, slightly bemused-looking human being nuzzling into his mother’s breast.
Peter looked down at his son and muttered, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”