Tuesday 19th November 2024

We've decided to call you Robin. We saw the midwife in Weybridge this morning, who suggested we arrange an appointment with our GP to find out why you keep having diarrhea. They're probably going to want a name for their system, so now seemed like a good time to settle on one. We were sat in a coffee shop in Weybridge called Aroma's Artisan Cafe when we decided. We've been trying out a few names over the last few days - Thomas, Edward, Charles - but Robin is the one that felt right. Your Uncle Martin and Auntie Sophie both preferred it to the other names as well - and we know better than to argue with them!

I realise that you may one day ask me about the origins of your name, and that a story involving indecisiveness and diarrhea may not suit the romantic notion you had in mind, but you'll come to learn that that's often how life plays out. We could have named you after some noble ancestor, or a great man of our time - but what would be the fun in that?

Your mum has been saying that she liked the name Robin since she was pregant with you. I was reluctant, as one of my oldest friends is called Robert (as is your Grandad Bob, if he ever needs to get formal) but - having got to know you over the last few days - I think she's probably right.

Your mum was very tired after we got home, so she and you had a long afternoon nap. I had some spare time, so I thought I would cook spaghetti bolognese for dinner - the traditional Italian kind that takes all afternoon to cook but which we rarely have the opportunity to have. I'm writing this as it sits in the oven, so the jury's still out on whether it'll turn out any good or not. Don't tell Uncle Matteo, but I'm thinking I may have it with a bit of garlic bread.

Bean seems to be coming to terms with your existence, though not particuarly gracefully. He sat with me in the afternoon and farted constantly before running off and leaving a golf ball-shaped poo on in the hallway. Why can no-one in this house shit properly?

Dad.