Midwifery is a funny word, isn't it?

We went to see a midwife today. I'm not sure whether to refer to her as "a", "the" or "our" midwife. I'm sure consistency and familiarity are preferred in these things, and she seemed like a nice enough sort, so the chances are we'll be sticking with her, and she with us. Although if we ever actually get to move house and there's an alternative around the corner, it might seem silly not to reconsider. And even if we don't, calling her "ours" seems a bit possessive or something.

I've said quite a lot there about something completely meaningless. Sorry about that.

Anyway. Our midwife was very generous in various ways. She was generous with her questions, and now knows exactly which diseases every member of my wife's extended family has ever suffered (not many, I was relieved to hear, having not previously been so generous myself in this respect). She was generous with her little roll of tape, using about a metre of it to stick some cotton wool to my wife's arm after extracting three separate vials of blood from it (generosity works both ways, you see). She was generous to me, alleviating the awkward silence which abruptly descended upon us as soon as my wife left the room to wee on a stick, by also leaving the room, ostensibly to get me a little leaflet produced by somebody on behalf of dads to be in need of something to look at while their wife is out of the room weeing on a stick. But most of all, she was generous with the reams and reams of stuff she gave us to read, look at, worry about, get free nappies with, and generally be weighed down by on the way home.

All of which will be incredibly helpful, I am sure, if we manage to read a significant fraction of it before the baby is actually born. If I sound ungrateful, that's just the fear talking. One thing I've realised is that the only way to cope with the mounting number of small but persistent things to be afraid of, is to regularly explain to people that I'm a bit scared. That way, by next March, when my nervous breakdown is in full swing, people will say "Bless him - he's been a bit scared since last August, you know." Aware of and comforted by this sympathy, I will in fact no longer be scared of anything - and will perform perfectly each of my paternal duties and obligations. So all this moaning now is a kind of pre-emptive strike.

If not for all of our prior worries and difficulties, this trip to meet our midwife would have been the first medical attention attracted by our pregnancy, which seems a bit odd over two months in. Mind you, the pace quickens as standard from here on in. We have two more scans to look forward to (conducted, I believe, from the outside from now on, which will be beneficial to my wife's comfort), as well as at least eight further rendezvouses (what's the plural of rendezvous?) with our midwife (who is generous with her time).

Now. I don't want to get all political about this. But it would be remiss of me to fail to point out that all of this attention is free of charge on the NHS, not to mention the coupons and promises of allowances and benefits to which we are - to our great relief - entitled upon successful completion of the pregnancy. So all of those reprehensible capitalist idiots in America seeking to cling on to this one of their countless unfair advantages by attacking one of the UK's last surviving beacons to the principle of fairness and compassion can, well, just shut up really.

As a reasonable person, whose sense of empathy extends beyond my own bank statement, I did not need to be personally involved with the NHS to understand what a magnificent - albeit sometimes flawed - institution it is. Without it we would undoubtedly be plunged into debt purely by trying to safely produce a child, and it would be to the benefit of someone who already has a lot of money, but wants more of it. I'm glad we're not having our baby in America.

P.S. My Grandma was a midwife, so while I'm being all emotive I'll dedicate this to her.