hope; it's not just a word, it's an almighty thing.

It feels so terribly wrong to even think of the word recital given the circumstances but Mamo Margot's little baby is taking centre stage. 26 weeks new, just 14 weeks from the customary scheduled birth, and our little Harris performed well in his latest scan.

Depsite his continual attempts to disrupt the proceedings with his tongue sticking out escapades, the paediatric cardiologist was able to ascertain that this week he is stable (and cheeky!). By all accounts his situation is still critical but there has been no further deterioration on last week and that's the best news we could have hoped for.

The journey for his parents has been constantly chaotic. Violently thrust against a seemingly impenetrable wall, the breath punched from them by a dark physical force and yet, just as suddenly there follows a gentler presence, a sympathetic dusting down accompanied by a warm encouraging hug, the embrace of hope.

And each and every day we pray that it fails to reappear. That place bereft of hope, its stolen foundations congealed by the fragments of our tears, tiny droplets of despair that freeze and solidify ever so tightly, squeezing one upon one and stretching high into a grey-black sky that disappears into the deep nothingness of a place we know we don't want to go to.

We can only continue to admire his parents' courage, our passionate and supportive community that treads water gently alongside them. Love, and above all else our unswerving belief in the vast parameters of hope, is keeping us all afloat.

We are where we are. They are where they are. And we, and hope, are all with Harris. Now and always.