It’s about 10pm, Thursday 21st November 1996. The phone rings:
“It’s the hospital, your wife….”
I don’t recall the rest of the conversation, but within seconds I was out the door heading to the hospital. Probably the happiest moment in my life was about to happen. My daughter was about to be born
The day had started with me taking my wife in to the maternity ward to be induced. That was 8am. By 9pm, there was no sign of anything happening I was told by the nurses that as visiting had finished at 8, I really should go home. An hour later and I got the phone call to tell me she had gone in to labour. At 11.54pm, I became the father of a little baby girl.
Today she was 13. A teenager. For the last six and a half years she’s lived with her mum, 160 miles away, and I’ve had to watch her group at a distance. Yes I’ve had her for the holidays, but it’s not the same as being with her every day.
She’s not perfect, in fact she far from perfect. But I wouldn’t change her for anything.
It only seems like yesterday that I got that phone call, where did those years go?