And rest.

Smashed.
Originally uploaded by billyjoebob.

It's a tough business, punkin, being the centre of attention. For two solid weeks, the world revolved around you (more so than usual, is what I'm saying), and we spent more than our fair share of time carousing, making merry and enjoying ourselves.

With disastrous results.

The niggling cold that was affecting your grandmother as she jetted off back to Blighty decided to attack your father with the full force of its might, laying waste to his dreams of a streamlined arrival back in the office.

Consigned to bed for two full days, it was of course your cue to begin displaying some "indeterminate symptoms" that were enough to send your mum into overdrive. Firstly, at some stage on Tuesday, you decided that you didn't really want to go to the toilet. For twelve hours. As a three month old person, it's thought that you should be performing your oblutions at least 3 or 4 times over a period of time like that, and so it was off to the Royal Children's Hospital with us again (at 11pm). Your dad, coughing and spluttering, stayed until midnight and then went home to try to get some sleep in the hope of being able to go to work the next day.

You didn't get home until almost 3. The doctor apparently looked at you (while you giggled at him), and said "he looks fine, keep an eye on him."

Of course, as with every other interaction with health professionals in your life, the garnering of a second opinion was a mistake.

Your mum took you to the doctor on Wednesday (apparently the wrong doctor), who prescribed you something for the thingy on the back of your head. According to the pharmacist, this prescription was entirely incorrect for someone of your tender years. Your mum came home practically in tears, the poor darling, after a night of virtually no sleep.

And then Annette came to the rescue.

Annette is the nurse at the Darebin Maternal Health Care Centre on Gilbert Road, and let me tell you that she is one of The Good People. After your mum rang her on Wednesday, we went in to see her in the afternoon, at which time she issued the following sage advice:

• Dear God woman, look at the child, he's the picture of health, he's as happy as Larry (no, punkin, I don't know who Larry is either, but I guess he's a happy guy)

• You need to start drinking Guinness, it will help you to produce more milk

• Stop worrying. Relax, go home and get some sleep.

This, pumpkin, was exactly what your mother needed to hear. After a couple more issues, revolving around your baby monitor's tendency to e-v-e-r s-o s-l-o-w-l-y turn itself down , and then off, during the middle of the night (resulting in some emergency electronics work (read: taking apart and banging) from your dad at 2am), we were back on track.

So.

There you have it.

Love you.