Too much information

My phone beeps to tell me I have a text message. It’s from a good friend expecting a baby,

“4cm. Epidural in place”

Shortly afterwards, another,

“7cm. Head engaged!”

I feel rather unclean, as though I’ve been privy to something I shouldn’t. I mean, we’re close, but we’re not that close. Not gynaelogically close. Think about it; you call your husband and they answer (loudly), “I’M ON THE TRAIN”. What pops into your head? You can picture it, can’t you? As soon as he answers the phone you have a mental image of him wedged between two suits, trying to open the Evening Standard.

Then there are those who inform you they’re “on the loo” or “in the bath” when you call or text. You might try not to imagine your best friend naked in the bath, but once that seed has been sown, its impossible to avoid it taking root.

Mobile technology makes it possible for to contact friends and colleagues wherever we are, and it cannot help but lead to a temptation to ‘over-share’. Facebook and Twitter expose the minutae of our lives, texts and e-mails are pinged without regard for time or proximity. Blackberries vibrate day and night, blurring the lines between work and home.

Do I want to know that my friend is 7cm dilated? If I’m honest, not really. I have her due date circled in my diary, a unisex stork card duly waiting in my kitchen drawer, already stamped and addressed. I’m happy to wait for the announcement card decreeing name and birth weight.

I think back to my own experiences in labour, and marvel at the presence of mind it must take to dig out one’s mobile phone and detail each stage of the birth. It was all I could do to remember my own name in labour, let alone begin a correspondance.

When the third text arrives, I am informed that my friend is “9cm. Waters bulging”. And I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I never upgraded to a camera phone.