Warning: Blogging may be habit-forming

You know, punkin, that I've been writing you this letter for so long now that I feel guilty if I don't continue it every day.

Certainly, in the 15 days since you were born, there's been a lot happening, and it's remiss of me to not update you on proceedings, but the truth of the matter is that your mum and I are so tired that the thought of stringing coherent sentences together is coming as a bit of a shock to the system.

Let's talk about this situation. You, it seems, are unhappy with the concept of sleeping. Now hangon that's not strictly true. You're unhappy with the concept of sleeping in your bassinette at night.

Sure, when you're snuggling on the couch at 3pm, you'll drop off like the proverbial man falling off a log, but at 3am, after being awake for four hours already, when lying in your beautiful cane bassinette, you'll just scream.

And scream.

And scream.

Now it's incredibly unfortunate that during this period of your life, your parents have failed dismally in their attempts to be independently wealthy, and therefore your dad has to get up in the morning and go to work. So, at 3am, after a particularly energetic bout of your histrionics, I ran for the safety of the spare room.

I realise this makes me not much of a correspondent, given that I subsequently missed the highlights of the entertainment, which apparently included:

• You not going to sleep
• You NOT going TO SLEEP
• YOU not GOING to SLEEP

As you can see, I got a colourful rundown from your mother this morning, at which time I fervently wished that she was able to do my job so that I could let her escape to my office for the day, although I'm fairly sure that management would not be incredibly impressed by her curling up under my desk and snoring (although it's probable that she would raise the tone of the joint purely through her presence).

So that's the update, punkling. We're ok, but we're very tired. We love you, but we wish you'd go to sleep.