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!