My Mum's visited me twice in the past few days. On Thursday I gave her half my clothes on the grounds that I don't have room for them, I don't really need them, and they'll probably suit her a lot better than me anyway. Two days later I discovered that I don't have a smart shirt big enough to stretch over my yule-log-filled stomach, and I'd have to go to an AA ball looking like a wino.

On Saturday she came back and I returned to her a box of Day Nurse capsules, on the grounds that my cold was much better, I didn't really need them, and I'd never paid her for them anyway. The next day I suffered a relapse and had to take to my bed with a sore throat, headache and no medication.

But there was a third item I merrily foisted onto my Mum: the mattress she'd lent me in October so that I could sleep in the living room on work nights and avoid the death knell of Amelie's all-night singing. Frankly she could have kept a narcoleptic awake in those first few weeks. But I gave the mattress back to my Mum on Thursday, on the grounds that Amelie now sleeps through the night, I don't really need it, and she might be glad of it when Pickfords lose her bed.

I was due back at work today for the first time this year, so the rest is obvious: Amelie's started teething three months early, she had her first bad night in weeks, the only bed is situated two feet from her vocal cords, and I've been up since half past five.

It's a good job I didn't lend my Mum a fiver, or I'd now be struggling to pay the rent.

So I've spent the day back at work, walking around like a zombie on Valium. But how can you be annoyed with something this cute..?


Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. But a teething ring might, so Lisa got her one this morning.