Baby worship

I know he's just an ordinary baby. One among millions and millions. But he's so lovely: his big shiny eyes and his petal-soft skin and his big, thrilled beam.

Daughter 1 and I took him for a walk. He enjoyed it. Ah, how simple it is to be a baby. (Just as long as people aren't trying to put your arms in sleeves. We don't like sleeves.)

I'm becoming one of those people who say that they don't know how they had time to work. I phoned the roofer this morning about the slates that flew off the roof during the big wind the other night, and the aerial chap about the tv picture that tends to collapse into noisy slices of itself, and then tomorrow I must phone the dishwasher chap about the dishwasher that he fixed but which has now unfixed itself again.

Today started rather suddenly when Cassie leapt upon Mr Life's stomach at 5.20 am. The cats spend the night in the kitchen but my mother had gone through to get a glass of water and... well, she swears that she didn't let Cassie out. But let's put it this way: someone did. Offended by the less-than-ecstatic welcome she got, Cassie immediately leapt off again but then she had to be apprehended because she really enjoys scratching our bedroom wallpaper. At least, she swears she doesn't but let's put it this way: someone does and I don't think it's Sirius.

Mr Life adores the cats but cat-catching makes you more alert than you really want to be at 5.20 am.

Still looking for cat-sitters... (see post of two days ago). What? You mean you don't like being jumped on in the early hours?