Monday, 9th February, 11.27 p.m.
She became an e.s., hallelujah, [ i.e., em semeycha, Hebrew אֵם שְׂמֵחָה, joyful mother, Psalm 113:9] at 1.5 p.m. to-day at the Middlesex hospital. She had a difficult labour and eventually a Caesarean. These are women’s finest hours, in which they make men seem pretty sheepish. The clinical observation – almost, anyway – at the beginning of this entry conceals a pretty harrowing 40-odd hours. I found myself quite callous watching Edith having her contractions on the Sunday evening, thinking it was the last lap – but this morning the sister phoned me at school to tell me that it had been decided to do a Caesarean, and suggested I ring back at 4 p.m. I suppose, H.L.[Baudelaire’s hypocrite lecteur], you have been or will go through this yourself, so I will not enlarge. My mother said, movingly, soll er osvachsen a koovid ts’n aich ‘n a koovid tsem yeedentoom. Omeyn. [roughly: “May he grow up to be a credit to himself and to the Jewish people. Amen.” I remember my grandmother blessing me thus.] And may I be a worthy husband to Edith and a good father to Philip.
These are telegrams, cards and notes received from relatives and others after my birth. I do not know the names of some of the senders.