I know it's massively boring listening to a mother of a small child go on about lack of sleep. In fact it has to be up there with people giving you an in depth account of their dreams.
But seriously. At what point do you start to feel like a human being again? Someone told me it isn't until they turn 18 and leave home.
I'll be 51 by then.
Nancy and I were both bridesmaids this weekend. Her, the mini version of me, in lots of net and satin fabric. She looked ace. In fact, better than ace. She looked beautiful.
So, could get away with holding her dress up as I carried her down the aisle in a way that would have been inappropriate for the other bridesmaids.
We stayed in a posh hotel. Which felt very grown up, and a bit glamorous.
Nancy point blank refused to sleep in her travel cot, which was a bit of a shame, as it weighs about 7 stone, and you had to be Geoff Capes in his prime to get it across London with the wedding suit, dresses, pram and overnight bag.
So she slept in with us, starfish style in the middle of the massive double bed, while Ben and I hung off either side of it.
I think that having a little person means constantly checking where you're at. What 'phase' you're currently in, as it seems you just get your head around one thing, and then it all changes. And as Ju says, 'don't assume anything, as it makes an ass out of you and me.'
So to assume that Nancy now sleeps through the night as she has been doing for the past month, was definitely ass worthy on my part.
5am is a lie in for her as of Thursday, and as this is day four of early starts, it doesn't look to be changing anytime soon.
Less than perfect timing as I start work properly on Monday, and don't think that I can factor a power nap into the day.
I used to be able to feed her then she'd doze back off, but the calories are like Red Bull to her now it seems, and she starts crawling all over us. Her latest trick at the hotel being to grab the headboard with both hands and shake it, banging it against the wall, which probably gave the neighbouring rooms the impression that we were having a very different kind of weekend away.
Everything's exciting to her, especially in a new room. The plug sockets, the bin, the sliding door to the bathroom which she can open when someone's sat on the loo.
Thank god that all the bridesmaids were booked in for hair and make up. If I was rich, I'd get someone to cover up my bags and give me an impressive up do everyday. But looking at the pictures on Ben's phone that he took outside the church, I realised that, now Nancy's so much bigger, I compensate for her weight by standing at a jaunty angle with her on my hip, clinging on like a monkey. And no amount of Chanel foundation is going to correct that dodgy posture.
But it's the morning after the wedding that brings having a baby into a whole new realm. We're no longer the couple who are last into the dining room, still wearing last nights clothes and shamefully having to 'fess up that it was us that took one of the tiers of the wedding cheese wheel back with us, but on the bright side it's virtually still in tact if anyone fancies some Stilton with their fry up.
We're now up first. Showered, clean clothes and having already caught up on the previous nights Coronation Street in the hotel room, while Nancy has her milk.
And No. 7 makeup doesn't seem to have the same effect as the industrial strength stuff the make up artists use.
Disappointingly, lack of sleep and a couple of glasses of bubbly feels virtually the same as a massive hangover. The fug. Disorientation. Feeling a bit irritable. Everything minus the mega headache, really.
So hurry up the next phase. Let it involve epic sleeps for everyone.