Bright sunshine combined with a crawling baby makes you realise how totally, disgustingly, dirty your house is.
I thought I was doing OK, keeping on top of everything.
All of us were leaving the house looking reasonably clean, if you excuse the mango/ spaghetti bolognaise stains on virtually all of Nancy's clothes.
And things had become much simpler since stopping sterilising bottles.
Which, in actual fact, was a bit of a pointless exercise, as Nancy's drank one bottle in 8 months. And that was only because I had mastitis and the poor girl was half starved as I frantically pumped out calcium blockages.
In fact at this very moment she is pushing the latest fad bottle around the room with her feet.
Which I will later empty, wash up, and refill tomorrow for her not to drink.
So, on the first lovely morning in what's felt like weeks, the sun streamed through the windows, and illuminated the grubby, stained, dusty front room that Nancy has been crawling around in.
And as if to really bring the point home, she'd crawled backwards into the cul de sac behind the sofa, and as I picked her up, had to remove fluff balls from both her hands. As well as an Asda receipt from her mouth. Not sure where she'd found that, as I haven't been to Asda in about 6 months.
I just don't understand how anyone can get anything done when their baby is mobile.
I'd love to be able to get stuck into the house or the garden.
That's a lie.
I'd love to be able to guilt free catch up on 'The Bridge'.
But when Nancy is moving faster than I can catch her sometimes, it's virtually impossible to finish the washing up from breakfast.
I want our house to smell like clean washing and bleach. To have a fridge full of food from Marks and Spencer's, and a Molton Brown hand wash/ moisturiser combo in the bathroom.
Not be one of those houses than people refuse a cup of tea as they're not sure how hygienic the cups are.
Or where Nancy's mates make excuses not to come and play, as the house smells a bit like wet dog, even though we don't have an pets.
But the fact is I only really remember to clean stuff when I'm doing something else.
Like getting out of the bath and then seeing how minging the bathroom floor is, so giving it the once over with the towel I've been wearing.
Or cleaning down the work surfaces with a wet wipe that moments ago has been sorting out Nancy's face.
Or worst, using dirty socks to dust stuff, before putting them in the machine.
I even thought about getting a cleaner. But as I'm in a lot of the time, we'd either have to lurk in Boots or Card Factory on London Road for the morning. Which wouldn't be the end of the world. Or follow her/ him around the flat while they worked, like an over zealous housekeeper.
Also, it seems a bit much to pay someone to clean our two bedroom flat, which is small enough to Hoover throughout, without having to change plug sockets, or use an extension lead.
It sometimes feels like being a parent is just one juxtaposition after another.
Your baby is tiny and sleeping loads in the day, but you don't have then energy or clarity to do anything other than get through it both unscathed.
When they're that bit older, and you might have come through the fug a bit, and feel like doing a bit more, they need so much more attention and energy that's it's near on impossible.
Having family close by would solve a lot of these issues, and I envy those whose mums can just drop by to give them a hand, or mind their baby for an hour while they get on with stuff.
But for the moment, I guess I just have to be thankful that we couldn't afford a bigger place.
How does one cope if they have an upstairs?