Piglet is asleep and I am seizing a moment to write.

He is asleep in his baby bouncer.  I am not convinced that this is the best place for me to implement my new bedtime routine, but I am frankly too scared to put him in his cot in the bedroom in case Something Terrible happens.

Something Terrible is bound to happen because
a) there is an actual WALL between the bedroom and the living room.  This means that I may not hear whatever terrible atrocity befalls him if I am not right there, in the bedroom with him.  Preferably standing over him, peering into the co-sleeper.
b) There is a warning on the co-sleeper which states that “children must not be left unattended when the side is down.”  The side is down.  And I do not know how to put it up so that there is a barrier between the relative safety of the co-sleeper and the Pit of Danger that is my bed.

Therefore Piglet is in the baby bouncer, where I can keep a close eye on him whilst writing this blog and watching Hotel India (look at me, uber-mother, multi-tasking!)

As well as trying to get him into the routine of sleeping from 8.30pm until as late as possible in the morning, albeit in the baby bouncer, I have been trying to get Piglet interested in books.  This is obviously so that when he grows up he will be regarded as one of the world’s foremost intellectuals.  The book I have chosen is called “Baby Sees Just Spots.”  It goes without saying that I sincerely hope that Piglet sees more than just spots, but apparently babies are interested in somewhat spotty-and preferably black and white-patterns.  With that in mind, I have thrust the book in his face at every available opportunity today, proffering it like a tasty morsel of mother’s milk whilst exclaiming enthusiastically “Look Piglet!  PATTERNS!  You LIKE patterns, don’t you?  All babies like patterns!”
Piglet has proven to be completely uninterested in this book.  Hopefully this is not a foretaste of a future rejection of all things academic.

In order to introduce Piglet to the range of experiences that all seven week old babies should have, I also took him to the residents’ social event for the block of flats where I live.  This was not in any way a ruse for Mummy to get out of the flat and see some actual adults, and at no point did the (infinitely small) possibility that any of the other residents might be attractive young men cross Mummy’s mind.  In the event, my prediction that any attractive young men present would show absolutely zero interest in a thirty-four year old single mother with a baby strapped to her front proved to be correct anyway, so this is essentially a moot point.  Anyway, Piglet behaved impeccably in his sling, dropping off to sleep almost instantaneously.  He is, however, making up for it now.  It is 11.32pm (yes, some time has passed since I started writing this.  See previous entry for what may have been happening during this time).

So much for my 8.30pm sleep routine.