Why do they exist?  They exist to make us say stupid things, like I was just leaving my contact details and I gave my postcode.  Why?  It only requires a phone number!!  Plus I think I say “er” more times when confronted with an answerphone than, well, anyone ever says it ever.  Ever.

Nearly Hallowe’en.  I have once again downloaded a selection of ghost stories for listening to on the bus to and from work.  I’m making it into a tradition.  Third year in a row.  Last year I classed proceedings up considerably with an all-MR James collection read by Derek Jacobi.  You can’t beat The James for ghost stories, you really can’t.  After his stuff, everything else seems a bit workmanlike.  Although, surprisingly, Dickens is pretty good.  The Signalman comes close to James for atmosphere and slow creep.

Anyway.  Wow, baby is making progress.  She loves being pulled to her feet, clinging onto our fingers with her tiny pudgy hands.  She sometimes seems to enjoy tummy time.  She was munching on her foot last night.  She laughs freely.  Oh, and did I mention the tooth?  Oh, yes, first tooth, coming through!

Last couple of nights, coming home has been so wonderful.  I’m presented with a charming, happy, active, baby.  Warm and snuggly, there’s no, honestly, no better feeling than having her plonked in my arms and then wandering about, chatting to her as she babbles and coos.  I want to eat her.

All very nauseating, but it’s the payoff for being woken at 4am by a whine from the cradle.  Actually, no, the payoff for that is the sleepy, muzzy little bundle sucking happily on her milk as you sit in the dark with her, half-asleep.  Even the crappy stuff is good.  Even when she’s being a nightmare, when she’s screaming blue murder at top volume into your ear, it’s great.  Because she’s there, and that’s kind of enough.