The prayer

Didn't sleep well. Party across the road. Rowdy pub not so far away. And the wife going on late at night about being asked to go to church to pray for the boy as a mother's prayer is strongest.

The boy continues to weaken. Cannot stand up without support. And probably could not manage the little assisted walking he did two days ago.

Went to auntie's house for lunch. He made no attempt to play hide and seek as he can no longer manage the stairs. He was still thrilled to call for the cat (whose name he insists is "cat") and to watch it have some cat milk from the security of the kitchen floor. He even got close enough to stroke it. Even though he got tired very quickly, he still wanted to observe (not help anymore) auntie load the dishwasher and to help make tea and coffee. He can't quite open the tea caddy anymore but he will put the tea bags in the cup. He does push the plunger down on the coffee. And he will stir the drinks and tap the spoon on the rim of the cup.

Granny was there. She was shocked at the extent of the decline over the last two weeks. Plaintively asking me if he will be well enough by Christmas for his present which she bought last week. I said I didn't know, rather than saying the truth.

We took him home by early evening as he was tired and increasingly lethargic. We were worried and keen for him to go to bed. But the night nurse was late and he didn't want to go to bed until she arrived. Luckily, 90 minutes in front of the TV had given him enough strength to cheerfully sit on the stairs to wait for her. Got a nice kiss and cuddle when I left him for Mummy to read him a story.

He is remarkable. He doesn't complain about the things he can no longer do. He only complains about the things he always did. Like being made to leave auntie's before he's good and ready. About having to go for his bath before the end of the programme he's watching. And me not hiding for him to find when I'm supposed to.