Call the Midwife.

Today Mothermouse is expecting a cat-flap. She receives a text to say she will be fully dilated between 12.15 and 1.15pm and to expect a delivery. She waits in. By 2.15 tension rises as her cat-flap becomes overdue. Another text, “Your parcel was delivered at 94 Tilbury.” This is puzzling, there’s no road or neighbours named Tilbury nearby and as the crow flies we’re some two hundred miles north of the famous dock town, and why 94 when we live at 109. We try Margaretmouse opposite at 94. She has not received a cat-flap, nor 96 or 107. 105 was out and 111 wouldn’t take it in for us on principle. Our bundle of joy appears to have been delivered to the wrong number of the wrong street of possibly the wrong town. We enter a period of post-natal depression. At 4.20 Mothermouse gets a phone call from a lady enquiring if she was expecting. She explains that she lives at 94 and was looking out of the window and saw a courier trying to make a delivery at 109. The lady at 109 is elderly and so she offered to take the parcel in to deliver later but the lady at 109 is shall we say post menopausal and is not expecting anything. The lady at 94 is as stumped as the intended mother at the other 109. After several enquiries to the courier company she finds a telephone number on the parcel and rings it- Mothermouse. The conversation explains all and I go round to Moorview Road to collect it. It’s a small world, well at least mine is.