Unfortunately, the caregiver (I blame the hormonal effects of pregnancy for her unusually cavalier behaviour) had selfishly packed a suitcase to the gunnels with nappies and other baby gear, leaving me little room for my all-important files on my current topic of interest - the technical advance of American drone aircraft weaponry.
At the hospital I quickly discovered that birthing theatres are not really designed as a suitable environment for writing.
I tried to commandeer a mobile table for my computer, but the midwife snatched it back, insisting on filling it with surgical paraphernalia.
"So where am I supposed to work?" I sulkily whined, sensing that the gathering team around the caregiver seemed more interested in the expectant mother's immediate problems than mine.
"Your job is to massage your wife's back and offer sips of water between contractions," said the midwife sternly.
Readers will be sympathetic to my situation. Here am I, bravely trying to be creative with a laptop balanced on one knee, while being forced by medical staff to concentrate on back-massaging duties, all the while desperately trying to meet deadline schedules.
Fortunately, I was able to have the caregiver's noisy groaning reduced by agreeing it was a good idea for her to have an epidural, allowing me to concentrate more effectively on my work.
I must say women react in funny ways when under a bit of pressure in the gynaecological department. Quietly reading my notes, at the height of the birthing process, I learned that behind each pilotless drone aircraft is a team of 150 personnel assigned to orchestrate a single strike.
When I whispered this remarkable fact in the caregiver's ear just as the baby's head appeared, I was surprised to find myself being totally ignored.
I do hope that the blessing of motherhood isn't going to lead to a future loss of interest in my work as a columnist.
