what's petty?

Two big, fast boys both wiggling past anterior lips, within 24 hours of each other since I last wrote. I'm beginning to think my midwife plans educational theme days for me. Or the universe. Or whoever's in charge of these things.

Since then I've played the much-loved midwifery game called cross-fingers-and-tempt-fate by travelling 2 hours away to entertain visitors. I was packing to leave as I got a call that someone was edging their way into labour. So now I'm safely back at home eating risotto and waiting. Round one, me. As I was sitting here, Jane came by with a birth annoucement in the newspaper thanking her, and one thanking me right next to it. Lovely synchroncity, that.

You know what's petty?

. . . . here's a hint. . . If I'm ever your midwife and you want to thank me publicly. . . you might want to spell my name correctly.

(note to self, do not give future child name with silent h at the end)