This letter is about small wins, like sitting across from the hospital that once consumed me with fear, and realising time has softened its hold. What felt unbearable back then now feels lighter, proof that with distance comes clarity, strength, and perspective.

The Chelsea Westminster Hospital, a smidge over a mile away from our front door. It was always going to be the hospital where you were born. Despite it being so close, I mapped out different routes and timed the journey during different times of the day and night.

During the final few weeks of your mummy’s pregnancy, we were living in Grandpa Noisey’s flat in Pimlico (that’s what we call Louise’s dad because, well, he’s noisy). I have a video of your mum that I took on the drive to the hospital. It’s never surfaced on social media. Even though I was sat at a red light and the car wasn’t moving, I’m sure plenty of people would have passed comments on how I shouldn’t have my phone on me behind the wheel.

In the video I speak into the camera, turning the phone on myself whilst sitting at the red light. We were excited, nervous, couldn’t wait to meet you and just wanted you out in the safest way possible and quick. Little did we know that this was the start of a chapter in our lives that no amount of preparation could have steadied us for.

However, the result was you. And I would say we won the lottery.

Fast forward to now, 5th of September 2025. I’m sitting opposite the hospital, with Koji and Toto slumped on the pavement next to me. I’m actually waiting for you and Mum to arrive. She has an appointment with the doctor inside, but because parking is stressful around here, I’m in position to jump in the car and take you and the dogs whilst Mum goes in. It’s a military operation, timed to perfection. At least by me. I’ve been sitting here 17 minutes already and decided to order a bottle of beer. Which was silly, as the bill just revealed I paid £9 for an Asahi lager. It’s possible that I’m out of touch with beer prices, I don’t drink much at all, but £9!!!

The small win here is that I am sitting opposite a building that for a long time consumed me, filled me up with negative energy. Today feels different. Much of that resentment has disappeared. My heart still skips around, like it does when faced with old unpleasantries, but it no longer owns me.

That’s the thing about time, Leo. It doesn’t erase the difficult parts, but it reshapes them. What once felt too heavy to carry becomes lighter. The sharp edges soften, and you realise you are stronger for having lived through them.

One day, when something feels like it’s swallowing you whole, I hope you’ll remember this: it won’t always feel that way. Time will give you space, clarity, and perspective. It will let you grow around the pain until it no longer defines you, only refines you.

And in those moments, you’ll find yourself like I am today: sat in neutral, looking back at what once broke you, and realising it built you instead.

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