I came home tonight and, after changing Jamie's nappy, put him back on to his changing mat to see if he would smile for me.
He did so without delay - and then vomited all over his best dungarees. Excellent.
Meanwhile, I fear I may be in the process of dying a horrible and prolonged death.
We were out in the garden on Saturday evening "enjoying" yet another "summer barbecue."
Vanessa looked like a Mexican bandit in her woolly poncho and Jamie was wrapped up in so many layers, he could've easily been mistaken for a giant baby onion.
However, given it was my idea to fire up the charcoal "because it's a lovely summer night, honest, it's really quite warm," I insisted on wearing shorts.
Unfortunately, not only did these make me cold, but they also provided easy access for any nasty, mysterious monsters living secretly in our garden to bite me. So one did.
And it was a clever nasty, mysterious monster this one, because it managed to carry out its evil act and then retreat to its secret hideaway with both its life and cover intact.
The result of its vicious assault was a hole in my left calf from which first blood and later oozy stuff poured out. And the oozy stuff is, unfortunately, still oozing. My calf is also itchy, sore and swollen.
Hopefully it will have settled down by tomorrow but I'm fearful the end is nigh. Maybe.
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