It’s a baby.

We (myself, my Queen and my daughter) went to the hospital to have our dating scan. It seems the baby bomb will be dropped on the 14th September. Or near enough because when are dating scans ever bang on? It seems like a long time ago we were in the reception of the maternity ward sitting, waiting for our name to be called. Anxious about what’s to come. This time it felt weird to know we fell into the ‘been here before, we know how you feel’ bracket.

It’s also the only area in a hospital where there is a sense of hope and celebratory optimism. Unlike the death and misery that pollutes the rest of the hospital. Obviously there are upsetting and sad stories in the ward but generally the promise of new life brings with it plenty of smiles and happiness. Even if all the women look like they haven’t slept in a while. Ready to snap, if they weren’t so damn tired!

Pop in the oven and bake for 9 months.