3-2-1...

The paperwork sits to the left of me on the desk. I've placed in on the bottom of my 'pile' of things, because it's the largest of the pile of items, and that is how the pile works; by size. Some days the pile is really quite messy, containing effortless amounts of procrastination. Today it isn't.

I am at a loss as to how to write about this. My head is in my hands, searching for the right words in my brain. Junior the man-kitten is posing a wonderful distraction. He's just learnt how to play 'fetch' with a small ball of paper. It's delightful. He's not the best at it, but it's certainly novel, compared to the lazy pack of minxes who I have had the pleasure of caring for the past many years.

Junior is not fetching crumpled up bits of the paperwork on my desk. That wouldn't prove very wise. The paperwork is important. It comprises of the information on my pregnancy to date, compiled in what are called your 'hand held notes', and some consent forms. The consent forms are for a termination.

Late Friday afternoon, our specialist called my mobile. He rang twice, actually. I missed the first call, and rather than just move on to something else I am sure is as equally important in such a busy mans schedule he tried calling again an hour later. He wanted to tell me that the test results had come back, and that our baby is Down syndrome.

So begins the journey to the end.