A new Arrival

‘He’s called Henry James, Pop.’

‘Who?’ Henry James? What the hell was he talking about? I was thinking Literary, as you would.

‘He was born last night. Six pounds – er – something. By Caesarian.’

‘Oh, you mean the baby!’ Himself’s nephew and his wife were expecting their first baby last Friday so we’ve all been a bit anxious (this is their first).

‘What else did Pete say?’ I asked, wanting to know a few more details – as you would.

‘Oh – he said that Daniel was shattered.’

The husband? What about the wife? But we’re talking about a man here – what can you expect?

‘Has Shelagh been told?’ I asked. (My sister in law in Vermont.)

‘Oh yes, Pete will have rung her. Or emailed.’ Himself frowned. ‘Probably.’

I knew what probably meant, so I emailed the expectant grand aunt (is she? I get rather confused on this sort of thing). Of course she hadn’t been told, but now she has, a beautiful hand knitted shawl is winging its way towards the new arrival. Lucky boy. I’m sure he’ll have more than enough of everything, but a hand knitted shawl by my SIL ( a professional knitter) will be something that will make him the envy of all.

Brothers, eh? Who’d have ‘em? But last night we raised a glass to young Henry.

And now I’m off to Truro to be poked and prodded Down There, as Himself says. Keep your fingers crossed.