One

It seems astonishing but exactly one year ago, I was lying in bed a nervous wreck screening phone calls (everybody calls the night before a Caesar) with a bag packed for hospital. The twin I thought was Beatrice (but was actually Edgar) was angry and kicked me in the ribs all night -- his father actually felt him from the other side of the mattress. The twin I thought was Cecelia (but was actually George) lay their quietly flicking my bladder and so I spent that evening, as I had spent so many evenings, in bed or on the loo or somewhere in between.

Time has done funny things over the last 12 months. The year has been an odd one -- a lost year, really. The days and nights have gone achingly slowly, but it only seems 6 weeks ago that I was wedging pillows between my legs and under my tummy trying to find sleep. To think I thought that that was as difficult as things could get.

It may be sentimental, and God knows this entry is, but I am wearing the same pyjamas I wore in the hospital -- white with a Russian doll motive -- fitting garb for a woman filled with babies.

Happy Birthday to our beautiful boys, Edgar and George. We made it.