What a nice chap!

He handed Sasha back to me on the train back from London tonight as the infant was zapping off through the carriage. Then he got off at Whittlesford,and offered to help me carry the pushchair over the bridge -- I'd already picked it up and started, so I said I was fine and explained how it's sometimes harder with two people (the baby tends to get tipped out, which is really A Bad Thing). Then I set off for Sawston and about five minutes later he passed me in his car and pulled in to see if I wanted a lift. He said something like "I feel so sorry for you!" so I had to explain that my partner had offered me a lift but I'd turned him down, because I wanted to walk. It was a beautiful night, with lots of stars visible, and Sasha needed to wind down after a busy day in London anyway. But it did seem a little sad that someone couldn't quite believe that I'd want to walk a couple of miles on a nice night. And, conversely, very cheering that people are so helpful and concerned. Having a baby definitely lets you see some of the best of human nature.

One small step for a baby...

... was made in front of witnesses yesterday. Turned out all the child needed as an incentive was a room full of people: five mothers and babies at my NCT morning, all applauding. Later that day we walked and kicked a Laphraoig tin (that's the tin the bottle comes in) around the room.

Any ideas for creative uses of a Laphraoig tin once the infant tires of it? Have used them in the past to store knitting needles (but that was a short phase as I don't like activities that prevent me reading) and bicycle spokes (but I never break them, so it was pointless). They seem so potentially useful, but perhaps it's entirely illusory.

The pushchair, which I've been Facebooking about (oh the strain of a multimedia existence) is a triumph. I got it on eBay. It's a very functional thing indeed: an American three-wheeler that's about ten years old: a chassis, three wheels and a canvas sling to put the baby in. I've made a cosytoes (I think this really is a word, you know - it's the name of the thing that keeps the baby warm) out of the raincover, which was missing its frame, and a baby sleeping bag; and a luggage carrier out of an old metal supermarket basket strapped on with some bits from an old rucksack. Lots of fun. And it works!

Flat-out baby

We tried an experiment yesterday and got Sasha to bed at 6pm. We'd all gone swimming -- the big kids too -- and everyone was usefully worn out. Sash had a bottle and went to sleep in the car, and was then carefully conveyed to the cot when we got back. Didn't seem to wake up any earlier than usual. We got up at nine, had a bath and played for an hour or so, then had breakfast. Sasha then downed two whole Weetabixes in the time it's taken me to eat a piece of toast, but has now konked out, snoring with head on table. Hmm, interesting.

A has been requesting a new blog entry as he's got me on his home page -- awww -- which means he gets the Ken Dodd song on the brain every morning [after seeing the title, which was 'the greatest gift that I possess']. As is the usual way of things, as soon as I'd posted about being so happy, I got onto a downward slide; partly Christmas, I think: it always seems to be an anti-climax. Perhaps it's because you remember the excitement from childhood, and can never match it as an adult? Oh well. I seem to be better now. Anyway, I was reflecting that 'If you're happy and you know it isn't such a daft summary after all, since knowing you're happy is the essence of the thing: it's all about definitions after all.

The sun is shining and the baby is asleep: I'm going to go and dig up nettles. Huzzah!