Alert, but not alarmed.

It's odd, punkin, that with six days to go until your due date, I'm finding myself becoming less and less agitated about the impending activity.

I don't know if, as with some people during a descent into chaos and anarchy, I'm placing my head firmly in the sand ostrich style, or if I'm becoming more pragmatic and simply accepting that we've done just about everything we can in terms of making ourselves ready for your arrival, and that further frantic activity won't have any constructive effect.

Certainly, I've adopted this wierd, Zen master look of calm and serenity, whilst inside me there remain sections of my brain that repeatedly pummel my cerebrum with annoying questions about specific items.

It seems also that these sections of brain (I'm looking at you, DadBrain) are prodded into activity by the merest suggestion that I will be placing myself in a horizontal position, and given that your mum's sleeping incredibly lightly at the moment, it makes for some interesting 3am conversations.

Having said that, I think that partly I've somehow convinced myself that being agitated about when you're going to get here is going to delay your arrival, and that if I therefore pretend that I'm not excited about it, that you'll turn up.

Your dad's a freak, punkin.

Love you.