Three Weeks In

At the aquarium, I ask Dylan what noise sharks make and he says 'Meow.' I tell him I think it's more 'Grrr' and the attendant looks at me as if I'm barking. Maybe she's right.

So this is it, the honeymoon period is over. We're back from the cruise and Holly has started her new job, which means I'm in charge at home. It's you and me baby, and one of us is having his nappy changed.

Not everything is going according to plan. Dylan is supposed to be in nursery one day a week and with his grandma two days a week, so I have time to do housework, shopping, studying and writing. In three weeks I should have had nine days without him but, for a number of reasons, it's actually been six, and the average is going to worsen over the next fortnight. It's not enough.

We've been busy. We've been to the Brighton Sea Life Centre for a friend's wedding and to Weybridge for a birthday party in a gym; we've had friends to stay and Holly's been to Manchester for a three day induction course; I've played a gig, entered the Bridport Prize short story competition and passed the first part of my Diploma; and last Saturday I spent the day wearing a high-vis jacket in our local park, helping out with the Jubilee celebrations. I don't think I've ever been so tired.

We've been ill. Dylan shook off his cruise fever with no sign of chicken pox, but a week later I had a similar fever and Dylan cared for me by hitting me in the face with his toys. A week later he had a temperature again, followed by three days of acute diarrhoea (at one point he napalmed the bathroom and I had to wash everything I was wearing) and a mild cold that might have been hay fever.

And the slugs are still eating my garden. For a time, back in sunny spring, everything was growing beautifully and pests were few and far between. As the strawberries turned red and we ate the first slender pickings of rocket and radish, I honestly thought we were through the worst of it, so I planted more seeds and transplanted the tomatoes, courgettes and cabbages. Some mornings I was out early enough to see the fox clubs playing in our neighbour's garden. Then rain announced the arrival of summer and it's all gone to hell. Slugs and snails have eaten my rocket and cabbages, two of my courgette plants and all the ripe strawberries. Everything else has been nibbled or slimed. It's time to use pellets.

But we're eating well. I've discovered slow cooking, which means I can put the food on while Dylan's having his nap and it's ready to eat by the time he goes to bed at night. Throw in some crunchy salad and crusty bread and it's a meal. We've had chicken and lentil curry, Irish carbonade, and a chicken and barley supper, and on each occasion I've made enough so I can freeze a couple of portions. It's not quite as cost effective as roasting a chicken but it's pretty reasonable.

Dylan's growing up in all kinds of ways. He rarely drops stuff on the floor anymore, he cooperates when I need to change his nappy and last week he didn't cry when I took him to nursery. Every week we go to playgroup, soft play and the library, and when we're at home he helps me tend to the garden. We also go swimming regularly and since the cruise he can more or less make his way around the pool on his own. In the next few days I'm going to take the side off his cot and he'll have his first sleep in a bed. It's a big deal for a little boy.

I've been invited to play a short set at a beer festival later this month and I've been looking for some new songs to cover. On the way home from the swimming pool I sing along with Chris Cagle's What Kinda Gone and think yes! This is the one! Then I turn around to reverse park on my drive and Dylan's in the baby seat with his fingers in his ears.

He loves his daddy, I'm sure, but it doesn't mean he's a fan.

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