Three Beautiful Things

1. Alec starts to feel overwhelmed by the company of mothers and babies. He squirms, thrashes his arms and spits out my finger, struggling, struggling to tune out and go to sleep. I start to sing one of our lullabies -- Dirty Old Town -- and he catches my eye, sucks on my finger and relaxes. I feel as if I have lit a lantern to lead him out of a dark place. 2. A schoolgirl walking down the train is covered in embarrassment at seeing one of her parents' friends. She half-smiles and then doesn't know what to say or do. The lady mouths a kind 'hallo' and then goes back to her magazine. 3. I'm not going to bolt my supper while Alec fusses 'a-heh, a-heh, a-heh'. I'm going to feed him first, and then I'm going to scramble my eggs.

1. It takes ages to leave the house when you have a baby. You think you're good to go (even if you do  have a string of sick down your back and a muslin hanging out of your pocket) but then there's a nappy disaster; followed by a "FEED ME NOW" meltdown, and suddenly you should have been there half an hour ago. So being able to walk quickly again is much appreciated. 2. The supermarket driver says: "I've got a long way to go with this next delivery." I ask him where he's heading. "Next door!" It's rather pleasing to think that they booked the exact same slot as me. 3. Alec makes chatty noises while I feed him. I get the impression that he's not really concentrating on the job in hand.

1. "I love that sound," says the baby life saving trainer. He's talking about the whisper of air filling the resus dummy. 2. An anxious classmate passes round her latest dirty nappy. "It's normal," we tell her. "I had one the colour of broccoli," says Charlie -- she almost sounds bored. "The GP said it's because she's fighting off a virus." 3. "I'm not taking him, he might explode," says Uncle Robert. But I put Alec on his knee anyway, and they seem quite happy when I get back. 4. I can hear in the kitchen: "Wow! Just wow." Nick has found the fruit cake my mother brought over.

1. The spring sun has been making pointed remarks about dust in our bedroom. I repatriate the clutter, and shake a yellow duster round the room. Nick follows with the sweeper. The room seems bigger, and the surfaces gleam. 2. Our walk has a purpose today (beyond fresh air and exercise, I mean) because Katie wants us to see the bulbs we planted in her garden . My grape hyacinths are standing in soldier-straight rows where I planted them along the edge of the raised bed (they'll look less mannered in years to come). And tulips in pots reach up with green praying hands. 3. It's certainly true that the bed needs making, but Alec is feeling sociable, so we stop and play with him on the new sheet's wide, clean surface.

1. Tucking a marker in a new book. I save all my old train tickets for this purpose. If you find yourself reading a secondhand book, and a ticket to or from Tunbridge Wells falls out, think of me. 2. A mouthful of baklava -- the pastry is fine and crisp under the syrup. 3. I leave the room, partly because I've heard babies will take a bottle more easily if mum isn't around; and partly because I can't bear to watch Alec being fed by someone else, even if it is my own milk, and even if it's Nick doing the feeding.. At first there is roaring, and then suddenly quiet, and "Well done, lad." -- On another note, I've just read Neil Gaiman's blog post about Diana Wynne Jones  who is one of my favourite authors. I'm very sad to think there will be no more of her books to look forward to. I wrote to her once to say how much I liked her work and to say that she was partly responsible for me wanting to be a writer, and she send me the loveliest, kindest...

1. To tuck a list and a pen into the pocket of my knitted coat, and to cross off items as we go around town. 2. I make a detour to pass the garden with planters full of blue and white hyacinths, because they smell so good in the still air. 3. "Today," I tell Nick, "Alec grabbed the lion on his baby gym and pulled it off." It's the first time he's held a toy, rather than just batting at it.

1. 4am and all is quiet. A milk-limp Alec is asleep on my knee. I wipe his chin, and I suppose it tickles him, because he smiles and then chuckles. His first definite laugh. 2. "Here, take one of mine," says one of the other yoga mums, handing me a nappy. I'm glad for her kindness, and I appreciate it even more later when Alec has another explosion which takes out his spare baby grow. As I am leaving the surgery, my GP holds the door open. "Hallo," she says, "And how's the boy?" I ruefully show her that Alec is dressed in a muslin. "Oh," she says, "Well it's a lovely day to be naked." And I suppose it is. 3. I've been watching Joss Weedon's Firefly during feeds -- it's a western in space, pretty much, with gritty, messy 1970s ships; and a mixture of high and low tech that reminds me of Star Wars. I'm enjoying the character-driven stories, too.