Ready for Take-Off, Mr. Stork?

Ready for take-off, Mr. Stork?

*Ouch*
Tummy cramps! And they started only half an hour after I finished the last entry and a chocolate bar, swell. So, Mr. Stork, I hope you're ready for take off, to go and deliver one beautiful baby boy.
Of course, just in case one stork is not enough help with the delivery of baby Leo, I'll also call the midwife. Just for a little chat about pain, the (for now, lack of) intensity thereof, and other delicate details pertaining to the birthing region. Sleep is much desired but somehow not on the agenda, it appears.

There is no official birthing playlist. I was thinking about putting Leona Lewis on, briefly... Tara:"I wish I had a voice like that!" Me: "Yeah me too" Leona: "... You cut me open and I - keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding..." That put an end to official playlists, but here is one of the songs I've been playing a lot recently and moving myself to hormonal tears every time without fail (click on the title to listen in, sing along, and maybe shed an emotional tear or two):

Look no Further

"I might have been a singer
Who sailed around the world
A gambler who wins millions
And spent it all on girls

I might have been a poet
Who walked upon the moon
A scientist who'd tell the world
I'd discovered something new

I might have loved a king
And been the one to end a war
A criminal who drank champagne
And never could be caught

But among your books, among your clothes
Among the noise and fuss, I've let it go

I can stop and catch my breath
And look no further for happiness
And I will not turn again
'Cause my heart has found its home

Everyone I'll never meet
And the friends I won't now make
The adventures that there could have been
And the risks I'll never take

But among your books, among your clothes
Among your noise and fuss, I've let it go

I can stop and catch my breath
And look no further for happiness
And I will not turn again
'Cause my heart has found its home"
(Dido)

Call me a tacky soul, but let me put it this way: Tonight I have no regrets.

Ready for touch-down (*ouch*)