Not enough, if I’m honest. Seriously, I ought to worry more. I know I would be a better person if I spent more time anticipating what might go wrong, and then taking preventative action. I’d be more punctual. I’d be a better mum. I’d be a better friend. Perhaps a better midwife.  And yet, I survive, laid back and seemingly unscathed. I leave in sensible time and I don’t worry about excess traffic or train cancellations because I can’t control those things. My kids aren’t perfect but they’re OK, and if they haven’t done their homework, that’s on them. It’s not my homework. My friends know my flaws, we laugh at me regularly. They know not to expect a card, or a present, but we’ll go out for dinner. As for my job, midwfery takes a certain amount of optimism. Things can go awry, and it’s my responsibility to be alert to the possibilities. But also to have faith in the process, to hold my nerve as long as is reasonably possible. To not always assume the worst. But to be prepared, just in case. This gets easier with experience.

Often, the best laid plans often don’t work out because you didn’t anticipate that problem. I learned, over the years, that I can make a (perfectly adequate) plan on the hoof if necessary. So I’ll worry about the unexpected when it happens, and not before.

Until then, carpe diem.