We’re Pregnant and I Can’t Speak Japanese. William Hay

it, but on the outside chance it is true, I figure the little person who is rocketing from millimetres to centimetres chose us because it won’t have a love of good food – when they talk of good old, fashioned home cooking, they don’t mean my wife’s cooking – and it won’t have a flair for languages — I have enough trouble with my native tongue; English.

      For whatever reason: if there is a reason; if there is a choice; if a child is a gift from God (not that I have been to church for 40 years); or if it’s strictly an act of reproduction first shown to me as an eleven-year-old on a clattering Super 8 movie projector at a Father and Son evening, we have decided to let the pregnancy run its natural course. Whether the baby lives 100 minutes or 100 years, we will be blessed.