It's life, Caleb, but not as we know it

Last night was quite a good night. With the help of a newly acquired dummy, Caleb went to sleep by himself in his cot around 10.30ish, and stayed there until 02.22. He then woke up for a feed; a wind; a nappy change; a voluminous (in both senses) poo; another nappy change; another feed; then dummy..dummy......dummy........
CRY!, feedfeedfeed, and then sleep/feed/sleep/feed/sleep in mummy and daddy's bed from around 03.15 until gone 7.00am

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I've heard it said that 'the past is another country'. As far as I'm concerned, 2 o'clock in the morning is a whole different universe. Everything is kind of blurry round the edges and moves in slow motion. Soundwaves travel at about one hundredth their usual speed. Conversations are totally unlike conversations in the real world. They go something like this:

Libby: "I think he needs his nappy changing"
(long pause)
Daniel: "Uh-huh, yeah"
(long pause)
Libby: "I really think he needs his nappy changing"
(shorter pause)
Daniel: "Hum, yep"
(much shorter pause)
Libby: "If you change his nappy now, he might settle down and go to sleep in his own cot"
(fairly short pause, as options weighed up)
Daniel: "Yep, sure"
(no pause)
Libby: "Well are you going to get up and change his nappy or not, 'cause I can't do it!" (pause)
Daniel: "Ummmm...what"
Libby: "His nappy!"
Daniel: "Oh, yeah, I'm working on it"
Libby: "The stuff's down stairs"
(pause)
Daniel: "Just a minute, I'm almost there"
(pause)
Libby: (opens mouth to speak again)
Daniel: "OK, I'm getting up"
(pause while Daniel heaves himself out of bed, struggles to stand upright, and looks around for dressing gown in which to wrap himself before venturing down to the icy depths of 'downstairs'. Finally, being suitably enrobed, looks blearily at Libby):
Daniel: "What am I doing again......"

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My wife in her weak and enfeebled post-operative state managed, today, the following:

• to clean the bathroom
• to clean the kitchen floor
• to wash up
• to cook the tea
• to cook a rather delicious pudding to accompany aforementioned tea
• to make my lunch for tomorrow
• to sleep on the settee with Caleb in her arms for 2 hours
  
• to feed Caleb approximately 764.5 (discrete, if not discreet) times

I reckon in about a week she'll be fit enough to start thinking about having another one...

[I hasten to point out on pain of losing all conjugal rights for the rest of my natural life that the last line was an attempt at humour and that I will never suggest/attempt/mention/comment or in any way bring about the thought that there may ever be any further members of the D.R.Simkins family, so help me God].

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As promised yesterday, I display below the picture of Caleb in the cardigan kindly knitted by my mother, for which we are very grateful. I'll let you draw your own conclusions as to Caleb's thoughts on the garment...

Caleb and the cardigan that Grandma knitted


[I hasten to point out on pain of losing all possible rights to a maternal inheritance that the last line was an attempt at humour, and in no way meant to suggest that Caleb was in any way anything but absolutely enraptured by the garment.....]

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