Running on from yesterday’s topic, I really should have listened to my body telling me I didn’t need that last beer I had last night. I’d headed down to the backpacker’s quarter at Khao San Rd to catch up with Bangkokian friends W and T for a couple too many beers and S suggested to me when I got home that if she’d gone into labour I’d have been in trouble — I was kinda in trouble anyway, but S being in labour would have worsened the situation somewhat.
That’s how close the baby is now — go out for drinks an expectant Dad and come home a father…
Baby is certainly knocking at the door — lots of Braxton Hicks, S’s belly goes taunt like a bongo drum (similar shape too 
) and while not painful is a bit of a freak-out and yet another signal of what is on the way.