5.00 am Princess wakes howling in agony saying her tummy is very sore.
5.10 am I ring my parents for advice (why should I suffer alone?) and push on a screaming Princess’s abdomen in line with instruction from Cork. “Does it hurt particularly when you press for a while and let go suddenly?” Well, it’s a bit hard to tell when she is screaming all the time.
5.15 am My instinct tells me that something is wrong and my parents say, if I’m concerned go to a doctor. I pack her into the car, leaving loving husband to mind the boys and zoom off to accident and emergency in the local hospital. Princess sobs pitifully in the back of the car.
5.20am Arrive at hospital. Carry Princess around the building looking for night entrance. Explain to her that they are very unlikely to cut her open (though in the back of my mind I am worried she has appendicitis) and she miraculously calms down and perks up.
5.25am Hand over her medical details to friendly man on the desk.
5.26am Princess lies down on examining chair in a nice kiddie friendly room and chats animatedly to the charming nurse. Otherwise A&E is deserted. I marvel at its cleanliness and the efficiency of the Belgian health system. The nurse takes the Princess’s temperature. 37.8.
5.34am A weary doctor, clearly roused from her slumbers, comes and does a thorough examination on the Princess and pronounces her perfectly healthy. The Princess continues to chat happily, I die of mortification.
5.50am Back home, rang father to give him an update – look, he suffers from insomnia, it’s good for him to have something to listen to other than radio 4.
6.00am Back to sleep to prepare for the rigours of a day which includes a visit to the farm and the aquarium. Motherly instinct, eh?