My phone beeps at 6.30am and I grab it as I know it can only be BF (best friend) telling me that her labour has started. I feel strange and remote as I was only a few miles away for her 2 previous births. I can't go back to sleep; the waiting is always slightly nerve racking.
X and I head to St Mark's square. We know we'll pay a premium for ordering from the pavement cafes here, but it's his birthday so we don't care. We eat sachertorte and drink glasses of prosecco.
I'm giving the whistle-stop tour of Venice and haul X into St Marks, refusing to let him leave without at least looking inside. We climb the stairs out onto the roof, I'm positively casual at this height after Sienna's bell tower. My phone rings and it's BF. "How are you doing?" I'm incredulous when she tells me she's done and eating sandwiches, the last 2 births were far more leisurely. A little boy joins 2 daughters and I'm delighted for all that a son and heir is born. It's surreal receiving the news standing looking out over the square.
X wants a gondola ride despite my protests that its so busy during the day you feel as though you are on the log flume at Alton Towers rather than in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. However, the "it's my birthday" rules win out. Anyway, we leave tomorrow and there's no time to do it apart from now. X haggles a gondolier down to 80E for 45 minutes, and I'm certain he's still laughing all the way to the bank. The sights are beautiful but we are practically head to toe with other boats as they all complete the standard tourist circuit. The gondola in front is packed with American teenagers alternately singing Dean Martin songs and trying to capsize the boat. The look of disdain on the gondoliers face says it all. We glide past the houses of Casanova, Marco Polo, Napoleon and Mozart. I ask the gondolier if he gets fed up of his city being overrun with tourists. He tells me that away from St Marks and Rialto its a different city.
I rest for a couple of hours in the afternoon after Dolores' behaviour last night. I want to keep her as quiet as possible this evening.
We head to our restaurant by water taxi. Venice is even more beautiful by night. So peaceful, the absence of traffic is noticeable. Alone, we stand and wait by a small bridge, listening to the sound of the approaching boat and the lapping water. The unassuming restaurant facade belies the fabulous food within; razor clams, scallops, seafood ravioli, lobster, monk fish and chocolate cake washed down with a delicious bottle of local wine. The journey home is even more beautiful and we glide past sleeping Venice, lights twinkling on ancient Palazzos which seem to float on the surface of the water.
I fall asleep full and content. I can't believe my luck, Dolores hasn't stirred since her afternoon nap.
Katy
X and I head to St Mark's square. We know we'll pay a premium for ordering from the pavement cafes here, but it's his birthday so we don't care. We eat sachertorte and drink glasses of prosecco.
I'm giving the whistle-stop tour of Venice and haul X into St Marks, refusing to let him leave without at least looking inside. We climb the stairs out onto the roof, I'm positively casual at this height after Sienna's bell tower. My phone rings and it's BF. "How are you doing?" I'm incredulous when she tells me she's done and eating sandwiches, the last 2 births were far more leisurely. A little boy joins 2 daughters and I'm delighted for all that a son and heir is born. It's surreal receiving the news standing looking out over the square.
X wants a gondola ride despite my protests that its so busy during the day you feel as though you are on the log flume at Alton Towers rather than in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. However, the "it's my birthday" rules win out. Anyway, we leave tomorrow and there's no time to do it apart from now. X haggles a gondolier down to 80E for 45 minutes, and I'm certain he's still laughing all the way to the bank. The sights are beautiful but we are practically head to toe with other boats as they all complete the standard tourist circuit. The gondola in front is packed with American teenagers alternately singing Dean Martin songs and trying to capsize the boat. The look of disdain on the gondoliers face says it all. We glide past the houses of Casanova, Marco Polo, Napoleon and Mozart. I ask the gondolier if he gets fed up of his city being overrun with tourists. He tells me that away from St Marks and Rialto its a different city.
I rest for a couple of hours in the afternoon after Dolores' behaviour last night. I want to keep her as quiet as possible this evening.
We head to our restaurant by water taxi. Venice is even more beautiful by night. So peaceful, the absence of traffic is noticeable. Alone, we stand and wait by a small bridge, listening to the sound of the approaching boat and the lapping water. The unassuming restaurant facade belies the fabulous food within; razor clams, scallops, seafood ravioli, lobster, monk fish and chocolate cake washed down with a delicious bottle of local wine. The journey home is even more beautiful and we glide past sleeping Venice, lights twinkling on ancient Palazzos which seem to float on the surface of the water.
I fall asleep full and content. I can't believe my luck, Dolores hasn't stirred since her afternoon nap.
Katy
