Away

What makes me think I could do this again? I don't know. Something.

I'm quite behind on the one little online luxury I allow myself, mainly because I feel I'm not being completely selfish with that time, and possibly because I'm arrogant enough to believe that I could be making an investment in his future emotional inheritance.

But actually, it will be a number of years before he'll know how to read these sentimental outpourings of mine and, indeed, a good few more before he'll even want to. I've got at least two decades to complete this series, and that's if we still communicate online, with words, written with our tentacles. Fingers! I mean.

For those of you still with me, though, I can offer you the Cole's Notes version of the last eight weeks:

We took Hartley to Canada for three weeks, so that he could meet the rest of his family and finally pay a visit to his second home. In that time, he turned seven months, but not before growing two teeth and learning to crawl - a skill he uses mostly for good, though sometimes for trying to launch himself off the sheer quiltface of the bed, like a happy wee lemming pursued by the notion that something more exciting exists just three feet lower.

In less than two weeks he'll turn eight months old.

I love him more every day.

Some wise T-shirt once said: "Every Life Should Have a Secret Plan" or something to that effect (I don't actually own the t-shirt). We don't have any top secret plans to sit on yet, but I think we're working on it.