Slow recovery

Today, still reeling from Bangkok, I struggled to get out of bed. My wife, after three days of solo baby management, was having none of this and cajoled and hectored me until I got up and tried to make myself useful.

It turns out that our daughter likes filthy hip hop. When she grew grumpy today and chastised her parents for failing to comprehend what she was trying to say, her rage could be dissolved by playing The Notorious B.I.G. and bouncing her up and down. This may not be a good long term approach, unless we want a child with a mouthful of obscene 1990s New York slang.

When our child wasn’t bellowing at us, she was remarkably cheerful all day. I had been tempted to shave my beard off this weekend, but given how happy Felicity was when her father hove into view, if shed bawled whenever she’d seen a bald visage, we didn’t want to risk unfortunate consequences from any razor action.

This evening we watched a couple of motorcycle races. The first, involving the lightweight class, wasn’t too interesting for the first 10 laps, then hotted up for the second half. The second race, with the most powerful bikes, was the opposite: a frantic start, lots of hard passing, and then nothing much in the second half.

Perhaps we made a mistake letting Felicity watch the first race, because she was excitable all evening and very hard to put to bed. She’d sleep for half an hour then explode with unhappiness and need to be bounced back to sleep again. Still, this should only carry on for another six weeks or so. On the positive side, it seems to imply that our daughter likes motorcycle racing. Or bright lights. Or her parents yelling at the television.

Tomorrow it’s back to work again. I haven’t exactly missed my database for the last few days, but it will be nice to see it again, tickle its hard drives, bellow at it when it runs too slow, and so on.

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