As the final countdown to motherhood begins, Herald columnist Elle Duffy reflects on the bittersweet journey from remote Rum to mainland Inverness — a story of ferries, farewells, and the anticipation of meeting her baby.

It’s October. I never knew that the beginning of a new month could bring so many emotions at one time. My baby is due this month. That sentence alone feels surreal to write. And yet here I am, 36 weeks into what feels like the fastest few months of my entire life.

For so long, the due date existed as a quiet dot pages and pages away on a calendar, something so far away that it didn’t even feel real. Coinneach started a daily countdown on our kitchen chalkboard, the number trickling down slowly with every passing day. That chalkboard has been scrubbed clean now. Once we entered double figures, it began to settle in just how quickly the date was approaching. And when it hit below 50 days, we couldn’t ignore the quiet nervousness that was creeping its way into our conversations.

And weirdly, it’s not the birth itself that is at the forefront of our trepidation, nor is it the thought of being responsible for a........

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