Three years ago to 8pm last night my little boy was born.
The look of disbelief at the timing never left his father's face throughout the delivery. He clutched his hard-won ticket to the Wales v Ireland Grand Slam decider in his hand as the midwives popped in to have a peek at "the one who actually had a ticket." It's now framed.
A Charlotte had been born the day before and the ward staff begged us to call our son Gavin.
I spent that night watching the match re-run, feeling - for some reason - that I'd missed a few key moments that afternoon ... I told the baby what a special day this was and that it probably wouldn't happen again for a very, very long time.
Thank you, thank you Mr Gatland, Mr Edwards and every single member of the staff and team for proving me totally, wonderfully wrong.