...said David below. I refute it thus, but posting will most certainly be light for a few millennia/days (I can't tell the difference anymore). Fortunately I write rapidly and without proofreading, so there may still be missives.
Last night was Charlotte's sixth but her first at home. Mrs B has got somewhat used to the experience in hospital. My eyes were opened, in every sense. Well nobody said it would be easy, but also nobody said anything about the graphic, reality-bending anxiety nightmares about dead babies. At 4am I experienced what can only be described as a 'waking dream'. Dear me.
The world righted itself this morning however and I read aloud to Charlotte from Boswell's 'Life of Samuel Johnson'. She showed no signs of enjoying it but it soothed me to sleepfulness and more reality-bending. BRIT. 'Madam, are you weary?' CHARLOTTE. 'No, Sir, I am not'. 'Have you moved your bowels, or are you to some Degree famished?' CHARLOTTE. 'No, Sir, not that.' 'Are you gaseous then?' CHARLOTTE. 'Again, Sir, you mistake my meaning'. 'Then I am at a loss, Madam. To what purpose or intent do you grizzle thus?' CHARLOTTE. 'It is not for me, Sir, to make plain the topick of my communication, any more than it is for the Dog to explain his bow-wow-wow. The intent and the expression of it are One and the Same.'