The last week of March passes with us fitting in a few urgent jobs ‘before the baby arrives’. Blue Nun is launched, I dash off to fit in a quick hair cut, I tidy every drawer and cupboard in the house because I’m fit for nothing else and I try not to ring Rose every five minutes to see if ‘anything’s’ happening. Nothing happens. After two weeks Rose is admitted to hospital and the waiting begins all over again. Two days and many more grey hairs later, the phone rings and I hear my son-in-law’s voice. ‘You have a new granddaughter,’ he tells me before we all start crying with happiness and relief. Poor Rose has had a rough time of it, so I pop down to help out for a few days when Si has to go back to work. The first night I’m there I take the first night shift and sit up with this brand new person marvelling at her in all her tiny perfection. After all the speculation - boy or girl, names, hair and eye colour, personality - she’s here, a placid little soul (apart f...
Christine Stovell, author and freelance writer, on living and writing in West Wales