I’m excited and emotional. What’s got me into such a tizzy you ask? Well, a few weeks ago Katie and I discovered we we’re going to have a baby. A brand new Roo, if you will.
How did this little chap (or chapesses) come about? That my friends is a mystery, but suffice to say that Katie tells me that getting a small person to live inside you is quite an involved process requiring me to provide lots of chocolate because “Baby needs chocolate”.
Whoever you are, if you’re reading this — perhaps years later at the behest of a therapist — know this; I love you. I’m not sure how, why or if it’s madness to love a smudge on the screen of a hospital scanner, but I do. Just the thought of you is enough to reduce me to tears of joy. Goodness knows what I’ll be like when you’re actually born.
One of the brilliant things about living in Britain is the NHS. They ensure that all of your bits and bobs are growing in the right places via the technological marvel of ultrasound. We were able to see you, and hear your heart beat, which is apparently a very health 157 bpm.
Parents were suitably delighted, siblings overjoyed and friends a chorus of coos and congratulations. Those friends with children exchange knowing glances and delight in regaling us with their tails of woe.
“Remember that night” said one friend to his wife, “when you were changing him in the middle of the night and I woke up to see a stream of hot lava squirt across the room and onto the wall?”. She laughs. He laughs. We all laugh, oh how we laugh.
So it’s with a mixture of excitement and fear that I share this wondrous news. If you’re wondering what to buy me for Christmas then can I suggest a plastic apron and a gas-mask?