Friday 13th

The Ashworths’, 13.09.2019

The last two weeks have been a hive of activity! Two family birthdays to celebrate (Stephen and Anthony), a whistle stop tour of Hamilton to see the mighty All Blacks and our good friend Good George brewing, not to mention a few late nights at work and dinners well after 11pm. It’s been non-stop and we’ve been longing for a lazy night in with pizza, wine and some cuddles from our dog friends in front of the fire. Friday 13th seemed the perfect opportunity - not that we’re superstitious, but we’ll take any arbitrary excuse! (Plus any steps that we can take to avoid being brutally hacked to death by a hockey-mask clad psychopath seems like a good idea to me).

Since it had been a challenging one for Lewis at NZTE (read “a week of tight deadlines and some pretty spectacular last minute miracles at work”), we arrived home around 9 pm after the obligatory it’s-been-a-hell-of-a-week Friday beers to an eerily empty house. With the lights on but nobody home, we were a little bemused as to the whereabouts of the Ashworth clan... but were subsequently greeted by Olly and Lucy (pooch pals) and a note from Lynda saying they’d headed to the Cosy Club for a couple of the aforementioned Friday drinks too.

Mystery solved, we proceeded with our pizza plans and cracked open the red. About an hour later, we were merrily engrossed in idle conversation about some throwaway TV show. We barely noticed a tall and unsuspecting figure creep forward from the shadows...

Thankfully it was only Chris, though he was looking a little worse for wear - almost like he hadn’t slept for days. Exhausted but content, he happily announced the birth of his new baby boy. Baby Ashworth had arrived 3pm that afternoon! We congratulated the beaming new dad and he regaled us with the turbulent tale of his baby’s birth. As the due date (7th September) had been and gone, he’d taken Rose to the hospital on Thursday for a scan and the doctors had decided it would be safest to induce her that day. The birth was pretty tough going and hardly the casual affair that Rose had in mind (“I’ll just go to the hospital and have a bath, done!”). Fittingly, there was perhaps enough blood to make a good slasher movie.

Fortunately baby had arrived small but healthy and mum was doing fine. The parents-to-be had understandably wanted to keep things quiet until after the birth, so we had been oblivious to all the goings on! In fact, I’d made it part of my evening routine to joke with Stephen and Lynda about their tardy grandchild and last night I got the same reply of “not yet!” to my daily question of “no baby then?”. Sneaky bunch!

After the gruesome tale, there was only one question left to answer- what did they name the little fella? No, it’s not what you’re thinking. Though personally I think Jason is a lovely (and appropriate) name. Names have been a contentious issue over the last few months with everyone having their own opinion on what the new member of the family should be called. “Cooper” was a front runner for a while, but Lynda had rightly pointed out that she would forever dub the child “Mini Cooper” if this was chosen. Sadly, Chris and Rose also refuted our suggestion of naming him “Zlatan Heineken” after Chris’ favourite beer and, of course, the footballing legend that is Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Who wouldn’t want their personal motto to be “dare to Zlatan”?

Lachlan James Ashworth was chosen, a wise (and safe) decision overall. As the first-born son, Lachlan bears the middle name “James”, carrying in the tradition of generations of Ashworth men. He was born a teeny 6 lb 9 oz, with beautifully blue eyes and bass player’s fingers. He’s the spit of Chris and we expect he’ll take after his father playing cricket with hands like those. Welcome to the world Lachlan James!

(Barely) Working Title: How to retire in your twenties


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