You Say It's Your Birthday (26/4/13)

The contractions really kicked in about half way through Crimewatch which, at the time, was a Thursday night

J had been having pains during the day, twinges while she was walking 'round the Kwik Save by my Mum and Dad's but the baby wasn't due for a fortnight so she didn't think anything of them. By midnight we were walking across the car park of Fazakerley Hospital. At 4.07am on Friday 26th April 1996 we had a son. Four hours, nothing but gas and air. My wife was, is and continues to be awesome.

With hindsight it wasn't a particularly difficult pregnancy but it felt it at the time. We'd had the 20 week scan in December, my last day off for the year, they hadn't been able to get a good shot of the baby's kidney (we didn't know what we were having, didn't want to know, wanted it to be a surprise) so they asked us to come back the next week, Christmas week. We thought it was a formality, just another ultrasound, I couldn't get off work so J went on her own.

And they told her there was something wrong with the tube between the baby's bladder and kidney. Told her that she'd need to come back in the new year for another scan to find out what the problem was. That was a long Christmas week. Long and frightening.

I told a friend in work about it, she said "you're having a boy then, happens all the time with boys." If the doctors had been that calm we'd have been a damn sight happier. Instead we were on increased appointments, increased scans, weekly scans. At one point we went into the hospital in the morning so that J could be given steroid injections to enhance the baby's lungs in case they needed to deliver him that night. That. Night. I don't remember how early it was but it was early. Early early, scary early.

They didn't, they sent us home. Eventually we saw a consultant, another consultant, one in a long line of consultants, but this one said "Why are they making you come in so often? there's nothing wrong with you or the baby, go home and enjoy what's left of your pregnancy." So we did.

When the baby was born he didn't cry. Not a sound initially. Four years later, Matty was the same. Our children apparently liked the idea of the resuscitation table and terrifying their parents. Obviously our first born followed this up by not feeding properly, developing an infection round the umbilical cord and spending two days in Special Care. SCBU for those who've done it. J was in hospital for about 5 days, I spent at least one of those nights sleeping in a bed next to her in a sideroom that the staff set up for us.

But that's not the important bit now, that's just something that happened. The important bit is that when they passed him to us, I held him, marvelled at how long and beautiful and perfect he was and he opened his eyes  looked at me and I'll never forget that look, ever. That's the moment when you realise what your life is actually about.

And the reason the baby decided to come early? It was his Grandad's birthday. J's dad's birthday. He was 52, I'm nearly as old now myself. We'd had a few names ready, J had been keen on Owen for a boy, we were both leaning toward Ciaran at one point, we had considered Sophie if it was a girl but....Sophie Salmon? The slightest hint of a lisp and the name would sound comical. Anyway, a friend had a cat called Sophie so that was definitely out. Didn't matter though, it was a boy. Thomas had never really been a consideration, not only was it J's dad's name, it was the name of her older brother as well. There were already plenty of Toms in the family.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at me and there was no question. I knew. His name was Thomas. He was quite definitely a Thomas. You just know. We added Robert as his middle name after my dad and that evening we brought both sets of parents to the maternity ward and introduced them to their first grandson.

But before that...earlier that day.... we came back from the delivery room, were put into a small, private room for a couple of hours, just the three of us for the first time. And at 6am, thinking it was no longer 'too early' to contact the parents who had no idea that we were anywhere other than at home, I made a phone call and woke J's dad.

"Happy Birthday Tom, you're a granddad."

Best phone call that I've ever made.

We have a 17 year old. He's a fine, healthy, good, intelligent, sensible young man. We're proud of him.

Happy Birthday Tom.

And Happy Birthday Tom.