Trousers, introductions and oooer Missus.

1. I notice that Nick has hung Alec's new brown cord trousers on the end of the bed next to his own pair.

2. Caroline and Maggie (who is now nine months old) come to meet Alec. Caroline swears he gives her a smile -- I think she might be right, as I'm sure I've seen him do it, too -- while Maggie empties the wastepaper basket, plays it like a tin drum and appreciates the scrunchy papers inside.

3. The doorbell rings. I pick up Alec and his trousers fall off. By the time I get the door open, his nappy has also gone astray. The salesman almost runs down the path.

Laughing it off, enjoy your baby and gifted.

1. The other mothers at the breastfeeding drop-in laugh at me when I say I'm worried because Alec falls asleep when he's had enough. I had it in my head that he would take himself off when he'd finished -- apparently this is not what babies do at all. I am so relieved to hear that.

2. I like the way the health visitor says: "Enjoy your baby." I heard the midwives saying it to some of the parents leaving hospital, too. It's the one piece of advice that all the healthcare professionals can agree on.

3. Nick's colleagues send him home with almost a wardrobe's worth of clothes for Alec, in all different sizes, so we'll be dressing him and thinking of them for the next 18 months. They have also sent (among other things) a squeaky rubber giraffe called Sophie -- the packaging promises that she will stimulate all of Alec's senses and teach him about cause and effect.

Hidden talent, not again and fast potatoes.

1. "You know you can click this lever and your front wheels will swivel, don't you," says the registrar, once Alec is a proper person. She kneels down (in her respectful, ceremonial black trousers) and shows us. We have been perambulating around for three weeks quite unaware that we had swivelling wheels. "It makes a real difference to the handling," says Nick.

2. The park is running and gurgling with streaming rainwater. Our shoes are damp (although we've avoided walking in puddles), and so is the bag of books and certificates from the register office (although I held it tight against myself all the way home). We shut the front door and promise we are not going out again.

3. "Seven minutes," says Nick. This is the time it took him to walk to the chippie, buy chips and mushy peas, and come home again.

Touch, nappyload and walking in puddles.

1. A lady with a white stick comes into the waiting room. The other patient and the receptionist tell her about Alec. "Oh I wish I could see you better," she says, and comments on his hair. I offer her his head to stroke, which she likes very much.

2. The osteopath says Alec is a lovely patient. This is after our little boy filled his nappy twice during the appointment. The second was so fulsome that the receptionist had to bring us a basin of water.

3. A girl on her way home from school walks carefully and deliberately through two puddles.

Man of letters, helping finger and improved flavour.

1. A card comes from Nick's sister, niece and great nephews. Dylan, who is just about to start school, has embellished the envelope with pencilled letters, diligently copied from our address.

2. The health visitor encourages us to help Alec's wind by giving him a finger to suck between meals. We'd already been doing that, but didn't want to admit it in case it was the wrong thing to do.

3. A mouthful of dark chocolate -- according to Fenella it will make my milk taste better for Alec.

Dig it, watch and quiet time.

1. A parcel for Alec: a knitted tanktop depicting a workmanlike digger, sent south by Nick's gaming friend Simon.

2. We pop into the Oxfam bookshop to show Alec to Sandra the manager, and get chatting to one of her volunteers who is a proud grandfather. "You can look at babies for hours," he says. I can only agree.

3. Shhh. One of my favourite moments of the day is when we lay the sleeping Alec in his moses basket and snuggle up together. He'll probably join us later in the night, but for now, it's just the two of us.

Compliment, latching and getting my supper back.

1. The midwife comes for her final visit. She says that Alec is lovely -- which means a lot coming from someone whose job is babies. It also means a lot because he has baby acne, scratches on his face from his long nails and flaking skin caused by his extra two weeks inside. Nick and I know he's lovely, but it must be hard for other people to see it!

2. Yvette, whose 3BT posts I mentioned earlier this week, recommended this short film about baby-led feeding. We give it a go, and marvel of marvels, Alec latches on all by himself. What a grown up boy.

3. Other new parents have told us about the interrupted meals. We have our first experience of Alec requesting a feed just as Nick brings our supper to the table. I can only plug the baby in and watch longingly as my stew and dumplings and peas and sweetcorn goes in the oven to keep warm. It tastes so good when I get it back.

Recall, sleeping baby and comforts.

The baby now has a middle name: Alexander David Law. My grandfather was called David, and as they share a birthday it seemed appropriate. I hope that Alec will also share some of his qualities

1. I leave the house without Alec for the first time. I'm just going across the park to Hoopers to pick up a birthday present for my mother. On the way home, I think of Alec's particular baby smell and I want to cry.

2. I sit in bed on the phone to my aunt, while the bomb-proof baby sleeps on in his basket.

3. Nick patiently comforts Alec after night feeds while the wind goes its way. Alec is still getting to know his digestive system, and finds the whole thing very alarming. We tell him it will pass, and that he'll feel better, but he wrings his hands anxiously and there's a very puzzled look about his eyes.

Snuggly, biscuits and night feeds.

Katie has posted a picture of the blanket she made for my increasingly spoilt baby.

1. No-one is getting much sleep at the moment -- I can't turn over in my sleep any more, and I can't sleep in one position for very long. I whisper my apologies to Nick as I make another awkward turn to get back into his arms. He says: "You're not being annoying -- you're being snuggly."

2. There are malted milks on the biscuit plate at yoga.

3. My beautician tells me to treasure the night feeds -- "When the moon is shining through the window, and it's just the two of you, and they open their eyes and look up... It's so, so special."

Meeting for coffee, Christmas shopping and shift.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving, all you USA people. Today, I'm thankful for a trouble-free pregnancy.

1. A bunch of yellow roses, a toy giraffe for Baby Badger and someone else's baby sitting on my knee and grabbing my nose.

2. The delivery man puts a large parcel in my hands.

3. The midwife says that Baby Badger has shifted over to a better position -- just hoping it can keep up the good work until the big day.

Long morning, us next and sleep.

1. I am so glad we have an 11am start.

2. After the class, we tell each other how amazed we are at the visiting mother's ease and confidence with her eight-week-old son. We are all wondering how we are ever going to get that stage.

3. To wrap myself up in the duvet and sleep until Nick gets home.

Filling, fluff and fathers.

1. To find a spoonful of dulce de leche in the middle of my banana muffin.

2. She sleeps on under hair like dandelion fluff.

3. Some NCT graduates have been invited to bring their babies to our class. We pepper them with questions about hospital bags and nappies. "Did you cry?" challenges one of the dads. "Yes," says the other.

Certificate, bitter and dads.

1. Nick has a certificate from work praising his diligent and tenacious work on a project -- and there is a small bonus attached.

2. Amaretti for elevenses.

3. At the antenatal class I like catching the other dads patting their partners' bumps.

Not nothing, sit down and supper.

1. I pick up from the library What Mothers Do: Especially When it Looks Like Nothing which I have seen recommended over and over again on parenting sites. I am hoping it will help me lay to rest some of the haunting remarks I've heard from my friends about empty days spent doing "nothing".

2. Baby Badger has been feeling very heavy lately, and really going for it with the Braxton Hicks contractions. It's so good to sit down for a few minutes, and whenever we are out, I'm constantly looking round for a bench!

3. Nick makes a huge pie -- we eat very late, but it's very good, full of tasty steak and kidney and juicy mushrooms.

Silence, trim and not isolated.

Erin and Shopgirl (who has the most beautiful white rabbit) have both started new blogs in the last few days -- check out A Blessing A Day and Something Good in Everything.

And I've added two people who blog 3BT-style to the Roll of Honour -- Talking to Myself in Public and Musings and Confessions.

1. A muffled boom makes the yoga class jump. "What was that?" We are still on edge here in Tunbridge Wells from the bomb scare that cleared the town centre two weeks ago. "It's the eleventh of November, and 11 o' clock." We fold ourselves into child's pose to think of heroes and sacrifices.

2. Such a relief to get my hair cut short. It sits much better now, and I feel as if I am showing the respect I feel for myself.

3. I was afraid that motherhood would be an isolated business -- but this cafe is full of NCT groups jiggling prams and feeding babies.

Not up yet, biscuits and next time.

1. I'm still in my dressing gown because I couldn't sleep until it was time to get up. She says: "Oh, it's because Baby Badger wanted to play." I hadn't thought of it like that... all the disrupted sleep could be my body's way of adjusting to the new hours I will be keeping.

2. Euro-biscuits -- I love those tempting multi-lingual packets in Lidl with their promises of almonds and gingerbread and chocolate.

3. Games night again -- the last one before Baby Badger. It's strange to say good bye to people and to say: "Next time we see you, we'll have a baby."

End of autumn, woodsmoke and circles.

1. Walking through the park in the rain. Cold air. Cold sky. Warm reds and golds hang on bravely.

2. The smell of woodsmoke on a rainy day.

3. We've been walking in circles all morning, she says in a text. I assume it's a metaphor for a frustrating day. No -- walking round and round holding a couple of Mum's fingers is Ben's new favourite activity.

Retrieval, ripe and first concert.

1. These plums are disappointing. I bake them into Delia's oat and plum slices, which are not.

2. I have my doubts about the replacement plums, too. They are deep aubergine purple -- some of them -- but streaked and shaded with green as if they might not be quite ripe. I pull one out of my shopping bag on the way home. Very sweet, very juicy and very plummy.

3. This piece is pushing the boundaries of music. It's pushing the boundaries of what a clarinet can do, with haunting polyphonics and hysterical screeches. Baby Badger reacts with some hefty kicks that are visible through my dress. "Your first concert," whispers Dad proudly.

Little legs, new and improved baby and the hills have gone.

1. The Mother takes me for my 20-week scan. We admire Baby Badger kicking away like a racing cyclist, and after a lot of pushing and pulling on my bump, get a view of its heart. "About the size of a grape," says the operator. "You can see the valves working away." The image moves around, giving different views -- sometimes it looks as if BB is snuggled up in a duvet. Finally, the operator gives the all-clear: "Your baby has no abnormalities that I can see."

2. "She's become nice and we can take her out," they say. Their previously fractious baby sits demurely (apart from the occasional posset, which could happen to anyone) in a sling on her father's chest and examines the world around her with wide-eyed interest.

3. To come upstairs just before sunset and see that the far hills are hidden by rain clouds.

Perk up, love and cooler.

It's my day at Oxfam Bookfest (in case anyone has forgotten!). I'll be at the Chapel Place Oxfam Bookshop in Tunbridge Wells today from noon to 3pm. 

1. My courgette plants have drooped in the full sun. I move them into the shade, and marvel at how quickly the leaves perk up again.

2. Her love is so fierce and absorbing that her attention always turns back to this wailing, difficult baby. If that's how I am going to feel about Baby Badger, I am not afraid of anything.

3. In these hot days, my evening glass of soda water and Angostura bitters (cool with condensation) is very welcome.