I, Father.

As many of you will know, the last thing we need right now is another medical or surgical interlude. Following the 'titanium shoulder enhancements' I received in January, and then the four hour delivery sprint that brought little Miss Maddie into the world, Anne and I have just about had our fill of hospital wards and X-rays.

Which is why I'm worried about spraining my neck and ending up in a brace or full body cast. Over the last few days, every time the phrases 'my daughter', 'our Maddie', 'Father' or 'Mother' have been uttered, both Anne and I have whirled like dervishes, trying to figure out who on Earth the comment was directed at. The words sound so weird - so alien - to our ears. It's spooky, but obviously very lovely.

As you'll see from this page, I haven't manage to post to the blog for a few days. This is because the inexorable pull of the time vortex has increased tenfold this week. Maddie is in a growth spurt, the blur of nappies is becoming mesmeric and poor Anne is pretty much permanently feeding.

One high point this week was the inaugural meeting of the 'Limley Grove Babies'. Anyone wandering down Beech Road here in the People's Republic of Chorlton will know that this season's ultimate accessory is a cute little baby, and whenever possible, a Bugaboo Pram. Here on Limley Grove, the baby boom is even more extreme, with three little people being born within a matter of weeks. So in the picture alongside this blog entry, I'd like to introduce you (l-r) to Anne & Maddie; Emma & Jake; and Gayle & Fin.

Clearly we're chuffed to have lots of mates/suitors for our little princess but we are a little worried that Mary, our neighbour, is sandwiched between two newborns - that should push her auditory endurance to new limits.