A few quiet words, no more, as I sit here by the computer, nodding off. Rosie is snuggled into the curve of a baby car seat, like a tiny pink oyster. Iím keeping her with me for as long as I can stay awake so that Emma can get some sleep. Reuben is next door in his room, which Iím currently sharing with him ñ two mattresses on the floor, one for my six foot bulk & the other for his 3 foot plus, like Lennie & George in some bizarre sleepover.
Itís been another day of acclimatisation, moving away from the struggles of the birthing process but still caught in a limbo zone between what was & what is now to be. People call, flowers arrive, cards drop through the door; the washing machine hums, the spin dryer clatters, the ironing piles up in a drift of sheets & tiny garments, but still the dream prevails. We creep back again & again to peer into the Moses basket to see whether we recognise her yet. We know what she is but not yet who she is & patiently we wait. And bit by bit familiar patterns begin to accrue ñ the windy grins & the puckerings of rage, the dog-barking cry & the feline mew.
Itís now 10.56 pm. The night is cool as the longest day of the summer enters its last hour. Earlier, as Emma fed Rosie & changed her (nobly taking my turn), I had a single beer in front of the England v. Croatia game as Scholes, Lampard & the godlike Wayne Rooney racked up the goals. Itís been a long longest day but a good one.
11:04:52 PM 
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