We had eaten sausage casserole for dinner, and were now attempting to answer questions about art and history and physics as we sat close to one another on the sofa, watching University Challenge. The cat was curled up on her armchair, and the washing up would wait until the morning. It was nice.

For this moment, time had been rolled back to about two months ago. We had recently moved into a new house, and finally everything was unpacked and in its place. Outside it was dark and the wind blew ferociously, but we were safe and warm inside, taking it easy, sat in our pyjamas. Except this time my wife wasn’t heavily pregnant, there was a tell tale muslin square hung over the arm of the sofa, and a baby monitor displayed the temperature of the room upstairs.

For the last couple of evenings we have been making an attempt at a routine, and so far so good. She gets fed, taken upstairs, read to. We get dinner together, time together; time to ourselves. And how wonderful it is.

We admittedly felt like something was wrong, or missing, and we froze at every moment that the monitor made so much as a sigh. But do you know what? Sometimes, just sometimes, it’s okay to not have her around, to have this time for us.


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