dug 
is something that has been parked quietly off my starboard bow for some time now. Now matter how many midwife visits and trouble-free weeks pass I can’t help thinking that something is going to go wrong… My head is a little fucked with right now as I’ve got the headphones on and turned up all the way as the two young’uns upstairs are having a major house-warming bash and Nick and I have just returned from the Royal Free (hospital) were Nick has just spent three hours hooked up to a monitor.
Basically, Nicki and the little guy have had a regular relationship so far - she rolls over, little guy grabs the duvet and tries to get comfy again. So I noticed she was rubbing her tummy earlier this evening in an attempt to get him to move. No dice.
So we called the midwife and headed off to hospital (warm night, riot at the Czech house, it’s starting to rain and folk are just getting liquored up) straight away. Well, to cut a long story short, all is well. But what a fright :-(