1st July: Due to a bout of parental illness, I am forced to eat jars of baby food rather than home-cooked dinners. Whilst the parental units didn't completely understand my diatribe on this state of affairs, the inflection and volume that I employed did manage to convey my general feelings on the matter. Who on earth produces this rubbish? And is it true that some poor babies have to live on it? All the time?
5th July: Having mastered the "sitting up" stuff, I've now decided to move on to "standing up" techniques - totally ignoring Mum who keeps muttering "Too young...too young" in the desperate hope that she can retain an relatively immobile baby. Dream on, woman!
11th July: Now the "locking-the knees" business is sorted, I demand to stand up all the time all the time. This seems to be causing something of a problem whenever I am moved from one location to another. For unknown reasons, Mum & Dad keep shouting "Bend, son! Bend!" in rather desperate tones...