1. I surface when Nick comes in and turns on the radio, then slip back under into the warm dark. Again when Nick leaves. Alec wakes, latches on and we sink back down. We doze and wake, apart and together like fat seals rocking in the swell.
2. Last night Alec appeared to be questioning me (in his distracted two-year-old way) about whether I had enough money to pay for the baby. A conversation before I set out to see the midwife casts some light on his thinking: "Midwipe say 'Forty pound please thank you much.' Mummy cry."
3. To hear Little Tiny Baby's heartbeat on the monitor -- pa-PA-pa-PA-pa-PA. It sounds like a tiny train racing through the night. Later, I tell Alec about it and get him to listen to my heart. He draws his brows down and looks at me through dark eyes, as if his world has been shaken in some way. Then he remarks that it sounds like the washing machine.
