You are a half and a bit

Dear Loops,

Time flies. It's four months since the last one of these. Four months since there was a collective aww from the female readership and four months since the male contingent looked away sharply, pretending they had been cutting onions.

You've continued to accumulate statistics and I'm still to retain any. All I know is you've continued on your percentile path, that everyone is pleased and you've doubled since you arrived in December.

You've packed a lot into these last four months. You were unfazed by a trip to Cork. Fourteen hours door-to-door, including a high speed sprint which resulted in Irish Ferries delaying the boat's departure and hundreds of passengers' Easters and which left the population of South Wales questioning their own eyes as a silver rocket left a trail of dust and a sonic boom which still echoes in the valleys? No problem; you'll just take it in your lengthening stride.

Impressed with your nonchalance, it was time to up the ante. We saw your 14 hours in a car and raised you 13 hours in a plane. We were taking you to Thailand. But not before emptying Boots' shelves into your baggage; something to prevent or treat everything from malaria to midges, Delhi belly to dengue in your case,  just in case you developed a case.

You outsmiled the Land of Smiles and good-naturedly accepted a thousand people fish-facing, hand and feet touching, photographing and, in some cases, cuddling as your Mum and Dad kept a watchful eye, trying not to think of Madeleine.

You dealt with the heat and humidity and welcomed the aircon like your Dad welcomes a cold Heineken; it's great being out there with the foreign sights and smells and smiles but it's brilliant being in here with family and a fan.

Marq Dallyn would probably like to see his name written here, too. That's done.

Crawling is your latest trick. For ages you managed to get on to your knees and hands but forward propulsion was a mystery. You'd throw your head forward to varying results: a thousand face plants on the bed and backwards movement on the wooden floors as your knees gave way and your hands remained strong. Visitors had to be warned to be on the lookout for reversing babies. Until you worked out that each knee needs to work with the other in turn. Now your forward progression is moving slowly and the quicker it comes the faster we'll need to move towards baby-proofing the house.

Soon you'll be standing and the number of steps will increase inversely to the bumps and bruises and calls to A&E. Balance is a necessity, Little Wonk, not an option. When you work that one out, an audible sigh of relief will come from the stone and wooden floors. And both parents.

Then the big day arrived last Saturday. After eight Allen keys, four panels, one base, a hundred swear words and a lot of sweat, your cot was dismantled and remantled in a mere five hours, a vast improvement over last time when duration was measured in days. The Small Bedroom is now Vivi's Room and our bedroom has a rectangular patch of new carpet. Hopefully one day soon you'll get over the excitement of having your own room and allow yourself some sleep in there.

I continue the commute which seems to get longer and working from home is on the up as a result; why should work stop me from seeing your first dadada, mamamama or visit from the paramedic, the recipient of some of your biggest smiles? You absolutely melt my heart, now that you've worked out where I am when working from home and the pat pat pat increases in volume until you round the corner and greet me with a smile or some applause or just a cuddle with an envious glance towards my work TVs. There's nothing better than the delighted squeal of recognition and I shall cling on to this when you're a teenager and I'm an embarrassment. More of an embarrassment.

So now we're approaching eight months and we're on the countdown to One via a Christening, a birthday and a Birthday. Every day brings something new and we absolutely love today whilst looking forward to tomorrow.

Thank you, Little Loops, Little Wonk, Little Stink xx