Home From Hospital

I lie in bed. Outside, there’s a fairly constant traffic noise, an intermittent chirrupping of birds, an occasional train passing by, and an isolated cheer of the kind that is regularly associated with football supporters.

Beside me, Karen snores like a diesel train. This snore is infused with new meaning – she snores because Bernard is asleep, to keep her own sleep account in the black. It keeps me awake, but I don’t care. I know that my worst-case scenario is to shut myself in the spare bedroom for a few hours when I can, but she’s the only one who can breastfeed him, so she doesn’t have that luxury.

The phone rings, so I take care of it. Bernard has been sleeping since we got back from hospital four hours ago. We have been visited by my mother and her mother. They provided copious amounts of food, to keep us going all week, and left within 90 minutes. They are stars.

The house is full of flowers – now I know why we have so many vases.

Thank you all very much for your messages of congratulations. Right now, I feel like the luckiest man alive.