Change afoot

My daughter is getting broody.  After years of protesting that a child is not in her future, her remaining eggs started calling to her to get a move on.  Today we borrowed a friend's baby.  He is six months old, and utterly charming.  Hell, if I wasn't nearly 56, I'd try for another one myself based on this angelic boy.  We walked him along the seafront, showed him the waves and the sea birds, and he did what babies do - he slept.  Arriving home, we fed him and changed him and played with him, a mother and daughter playing dolls together, but with a living, breathing doll of a baby.  He laughed at all my jokes; he listened intently when I explained that he was only on loan to us, and smiled when we couldn't work out how to disassemble the pushchair. 

He's gone home now, and the house seems strangely quiet, just after a couple of hours.  Broody?  Me?  Could be.

Techo Confusion - Part 2

The I-pad was abandoned - too cumbersome, too difficult to send e-mails and write reports, and yet....  I saw the look in his eye as he was steered towards a 'sensible' netbook.  The head may have beaten the heart into submission this time, but the longing for the smart gadget is still there.  The netbook is being used grudgingly - it's too small, the mouse is too sensitive, the print not big enough.  And yet this morning I received my first e-mail from him, via a wi-fi hotspot.  You could almost hear the pride in his achievement coming off the screen.  There's life in the old technophobe yet.

Technological confusion

After years of being on the outside of the technological revolution, the man I love has his heart set on an I-Pad.  He has no idea what he will do with it - I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what it is.  But the longing is there, and I suppose it's a wee bit cheaper than a sports car.  Got to love the male menopause.

500 pages

500 pages.  500 pages and the hope that it will all get better, that the author really does know what he is doing and that when the last line is read, the reader will say "ah! I understand it now!"  But it is not to be.  Just another ten hours of my life that I won't get back.  Ten hours I could have been walking along the beach, or chatting with friends.  Ten hours inhabiting someone else's idea of a great novel.

Trust me - it wasn't.