Name on The Register

Yesterday, our son was formally registered as having been born.

The morning started as normal but as the time neared I felt a lot of excitement about formally announcing to the officials-that-be that we now have a son and what his name is. I don't know why I felt like that, it's not as if Gordon Brown is going to put a call in to congratulate us or even, for that matter, the Mayor of Watford (if one exists). But it means our son has officially arrived and he has a genuine Birth Certificate for us all to lose at some point in his life.

Registering a Birth is a slightly stuffy affair. You have to call up and book an appointment with the registrar. I did so and the earliest time I got was two days forward. It's an old building with decent parking and I competed for attention with a wedding which was going on upstairs, though quite how they were going to get the elderly gentleman with a walking stick who had trouble with the shallow steps outside up there I was not sure. I was ushered in very swiftly and the nice man sat me down (no tea offered, none expected frankly) and he turned his computer screen to me. First he checked my wife's name and date she gave birth and picked off the fact that Watford General had recorded the birth on the system. We then went through a series of questions to ascertain addresses, where the parents were born and what we did for a living and then on to formally recording the name of our son.

The curious thing for me was that no real verification was required - I brought along the maternity records and red health book issued by the hospital, I even took my wife and I's passports. But none of that was asked for - registering a birth is a very simple matter, hardly requiring official input at all, in my opinion. When he asked if I wanted any copies and I told him 10, he did raise his eyebrows.

"10?" he asked. "Why so many?"

"We are a forgetful family," I replied. It was partly true but I was planning on sending some to relatives too - God knows why.

I understood why he was concerned. The poor chap had to individually print, sign and date each copy with his old fountain pen. It took a while and in total it cost £35 (£3.50 a copy).

Scott Edward exists. It's official. And we had a quiet sip of rose sparkly stuff to celebrate with our chicken risotto for tea.

B-Day!

Nine months have flashed by and today is the big day - the day our baby will be born.

It's hard to believe and the whole nine months has seemed slightly surreal, with all the excitement crammed packed into not just the last month but it seems the last few days. Maybe it's because I am an old fellah, maybe it's because I thought my time had passed, maybe because I had become used to my life but the whole process of gestation has seemed to be just another nine months until the last few days.

It has suddenly dawned on me - I am not working, I am on 'Paternity Leave', or the equivalent for a father who does not get paid when he takes time off. When I typed out my email 'Out of Office' it seemed very strange putting that down. The phone was very busy yesterday with lots of texts and calls from well-wishers and friends and this has been one thing that both my wife and I have been bowled over by - the sincere hopeful wishes of all our friends and family who have been brilliant over the last 6 to 9 months.

In the past few days, I have constructed the cot (without too many expletives), erected the Moses basket, cleaned the baby's room, washed the curtains, constructed the pram, attached the isofix base to the car, put in the child seat, taken all the packaging to the tip and started an electronic scrapbook of the baby's life - codenamed for now, of course. Ah names. There has never been a problem on girl's names - there are so many beautiful ones - but boy names have been a source of frustration. It doesn't help that I offer daft ones - recently I pointed out that Dracula as a name gets a bad press and this year Osama seems popular. We still have not found the right one - and if it's a boy we will have to see what name suits him when he arrives.

My wife has been getting nervous and went into 'high nesting' mode in the last few days. She was a bundle of energy followed by a floppy heap, knackered out by her efforts. Yesterday, after repacking her bag(s) for the hospital several times, she started shredding a pile of documents for no particular reason other than 'they were there'. We did try and relax so we went to lunch in St Albans with her sister and two of her boys. There was a mixture of tears and laughter - it was just what was needed. Last night, we charged up all the cameras and I got all the makings of sandwiches ready to make this morning as it seems dads don't get fed. I checked with the hospital and all is set for today.

We have to call at 7.00am for instructions but we believe that our consultant, Yunus Tayob, has arranged for the C-Section this afternoon some time so there may be a chance of a breakfast - if not it is fasting for my wife for the day. I will make sandwiches and take cakes for her later as I have no idea what the arrangements are. I haven't researched some simple things like 'Registering the Birth' but I hope that will be easy. I am also hoping that my father-in-law can pitch in with the dogs as I will be away for the best part of 3 days - the dogs will have forgotten me by the time I return.

My wife is booked in at the Knutsford Suite private wing of Waford General Hospital - they offered to put me up at £161 per night but I could stay at Claridge's for less - besides, if it's not match day, then it's only 10 minutes away. If it is match day, then it's five - ha, ha a joke at the expense of Watford FC supporter(s).

It's not long to go now and bodies are stirring in the house. I will let you know what happens next! Damn, knew I had forgotten something - choosing the music for the delivery.