Bleeeeurgh!

Ah, the joy of vomit!

Boy, the lad has been sick this week, introducing us to a world that other less lucky parents have to live in all the time.

He picked up a bug that's apparently flying around, did the Big Spit most of Monday, then seemed to recover, then had a relapse last night in the early hours with more high tempo, technicolour barfing over himself, his bed and us. A little of it even made it into the sink...

Unfortunately a glut of work (I write for a living, believe it or not) has seen my contributions to this blog drop off more sharply than Phil Daniels' moped in Quadrophenia. Shame, because there have been lots of small bits of developmental progress with the lad.

He's now communicating much more, even if talking is still a while off. He's so close to walking it's not true, although I seem to have been saying that for months! His speed and efficiency at crawling is proving to be both a good and bad thing; bad because I think he sees no benefit in walking as he can get from A to B on all fours more quickly.

Best of all his sense of fun is undiminished. He loves a good laugh more than anybody I know, which is very handy given the work stresses and strains I've been under lately. He is a real tonic for the troops. In fact I'd much rather be at home having a giggle with him now, rather than finishing off a load of work at nearly seven in the evening....