My old schoolfriend Nick got married this year, and he invited me to his stag party on the weekend of 2 April. We went down to Brighton on the Friday, drank lots, dressed Nick up in silly costumes and made him eat chili peppers, and the plan was to go paintballing the next day and do it all over again.
You were due to be born on 11 April - and first babies are usually late anyway. So I thought I was pretty safe going to the stag do.
I woke up on the Saturday morning feeling somewhat worse for wear. Dragged myself down for a hotel breakfast, swapped stories about the previous night, and tried to avoid loud noises.
That's when your mum called to say her waters had broken. I was only too pleased to leave the others to finish the stag celebrations without me!
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