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.
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