I told you I was tired yesterday...

Still, at least one of us managed to look at the camera.

To be honest though, it wasn't just child-related exhaustion. Lisa took that photo in the afternoon, and by that point I think I was slipping into a hyperglycemic coma. Not only was I full of honey biscuits, but I'd received a bar of chocolate in the post, and it seemed rude not to eat it.

The honey biscuits were actually a roaring success. The recipe said it made thirty, but I can't be doing with bite-sized treats, so I told Amelie to make twelve. At which point I ate three and she ate two. They were basically gone before the oven cooled down. They were easier than expected too. The book said you need a thousand bees, a field of wheat and a cow, but in the end we just walked to the corner shop.

One thing the recipe didn't mention, however, was that the midwife would turn up just as you're weighing out the butter. It turned out to be the same midwife that visited Amelie when she was one day old. As I wrote at the time, "it's good to know that under the right circumstances, I can go from naked and sleeping, to standing at the front door, fully clothed, introducing myself to a woman with the same name as my cat, all in under thirty seconds".

Four years on, the woman's name still caused us problems. She overheard Amelie in the kitchen telling me that Chloe's a silly old cheeky-chops, and she got quite offended. She took her revenge though. She watched Lisa changing a nappy, and told her off for using baby wipes. Apparently it's cotton wool only for the first couple of months. Assuming you live on the same planet as the midwives.

No sooner had she left, than the doorbell rang again. This time it was the postman with another care package. It turned out to be from the lovely Marie, who saved the day with a parcel full of goodies, including books for Amelie, a cuddly dog for Toby, and numerous products, including the kind of quality nipple cream that made my Asda own-brand look like a cheap tube of lard. I did a deal with Lisa, whereby she could have sole use of the nipple cream if I got to eat all the chocolate.

An hour later, we had a visit from the Next courier, delivering some clothes that Lisa had ordered, and then, just as I was wondering if the batteries in our doorbell could cope with all this harrassment, another midwife turned up. She claimed it was an administrative error, and that Lisa had accidentally been put on two people's lists, but in reality I think they were meant to come together for personal safety, just in case Lisa got hold of a weapon. In the end she apologised for bothering us, I apologised for her wasted journey, and we let her leave quickly before she could tell us her name was Shimmy.