The little man's asleep and I'm preparing dinner. It's only 2 o'clock but by far easier to do it now than when the people come home.

I had actually packed the perambulator – Arthur, Angel and I were going for a walk – but then it started raining like the sky had burst open. Thunder and lightning followed. So, Angel and I went back upstairs and I left Arthur to nap in the pram.

Earlier this morning, Arthur was screaming and screaming like only a disgruntled baby can scream. I tried everything (except putting my nipple in his mouth, which was quite clearly what he wanted, but as he was only just fed, it wasn't for hunger and I'm trying to cut down on the comfort feeds as I want him to eat more solids!) but despite my every effort he just kept wailing. After about half an hour I had to have a break, so I put him down on the floor and went upstairs to wee and to put some socks on etc. When I was upstairs I sat down on my bed with my head in my hands trying to find some inner strength to go downstairs again to deal with the still and impossibly increasing yowling. When I got out onto the landing who do I see? Yes, my 7 months old boy has scaled the stairs!!! Well, I guess if the mountain won't go to Muhammad, Muhammad will go to the mountain! He was still wailing but stopped as soon as I picked him up. Little man. God, I felt terrible. I obviously should've closed the child gate which is there for that same purpose, but I didn't think he could get up the stairs and I'm not convinced he could've had he not been so cross and determined to find his lost mother.

In other news...

Mette might finally make her way over here after 4 months of not seeing the children – other than in photos, of course.