Mr Emu christened you both peas on the afternoon of transfer as he gingerly tapped my tummy to check you were there. I hated it. “Stop making them real”. He’s been attached to you since you were transferred.
You’ll not know this, but when I had to pee in a bed pan after the transfer he felt the need to “check for lumps” in case you’d dropped out. He’s a funny one.
Mr Emu is definitely more excited about you than I am. Though we both know that if tomorrow brings a positive we’ll not really believe it until we see one of, or both of you, ourselves.
If you’ve made it through stresses of a mother in law with cancer, the risk of redundancy for Mr Emu, a fractured ankle and a very emotional Mrs Emu who has cried so much since you’ve been put back in debating whether it’s fair she can have you when she panicked if she even wanted you... then you are incredibly strong. And you’re already the offspring of an Emu.
I promise if you’re real, I’ll tell you all of these stories. I’ll be honest with you about how ridiculously heartbreaking this journey is so you can make sure you are prepared for potential problems and always be there for others.
I’ve refused to call you the peas until tonight. I can’t call if you’re there. But, in the morning, if you are there... you’re very welcome to stay. xx