Institutionalised

Sunday 1 February

Being (relatively) long stay in a hospital has given me a terrible look as to what it must be like for some people to be in a rest home. I have turned into a grumpy old man, the highlight of his day being the prospect of lamb boil-up for dinner. The rhythms of the day involve the procession of meals, drugs, and other people's visitors.

The good news is, I am still here. We reach the milestone of 34 weeks tomorrow. And by making it as far as today, we have a February baby. I am stable and baby has kindly turned head downwards rather than lying in the less stable and suboptimal footling breech position.

Orla has grown up already in my absence. Last night I heard the lovely call of “can't catch me!” echoing down the corridor towards my room. In she came, to tell me “I wear big girl pants”, showing me her trainers. Aidan has a two-wheeler bike – he can now ride alongside his sister and friend. Isabelle seems quiet, the school year just around the corner.

I am touched that, reportedly, the cat is missing me.