After four post-holiday practice sessions at the rehabilitation centre, with support and advice from my wonderful prosthetist, wound nurse and physiotherapist, and helpful comments from passing amputees, I have been allowed to take my new leg home. It reminds me, oddly, of the first day alone at home with a newborn baby.   I gaze at it as it rests, propped up against my chair, with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation. There’s no way back; the leg is here to stay. The joy of having it is tempered by weariness and apprehension as I go from expert, speedy crutch-hopper to beginner, tentative, prosthetic-leg-walker. Matron Anna, the first-born, says she knows how Stumpy must be feeling.  No one’s interested in him, or even his beautifully healed scar, any more.  It’s all lovely leg, amazing leg, incredible leg now.  Not that she’s still bitter, or anything.