Five months old and you have a very nasty cold. You are full of snot. It's in your hair, on your forehead, on your cheeks and on your fingers. You are a grizzly little snot monster. Poor little you.
This month, you've learned to blow raspberries. You like doing this, especially when you've got a mouth full of drool that can splat out and onto anyone/thing/pet that happens to be passing. You can almost sit up on your own. Oh, and you can put even more things in your mouth than last month - this time, using... both hands! You've begun to get really into the pets, laughing at Blod and Zeb when they hair past your bouncy chair.
You love men. You grin at men in shops and cafes, then when they smile back, you bury your head into my chest in a very coy and coquettish fashion. And you save your biggest gurgles and cutest coos for your grandpa and your dad. But no boyfriends until your at least 25, OK? And then me and your dad have to vet them to check that they aren't emotionally retarded/ alcoholic/ commitment phobic/ too macho.
You've also discovered someone who gives never fails to make you grin with delight - that lovely baby we keep seeing in the mirror. Whenever we're on our way out, we pass the mirror in the hall and you do a double take, check out that baby looking back at you and give it the biggest beam ever.
Your dad and I have a problem. What are you going to call me? Being a Valleys girl, I called my mother Mam (or Mammy when I was a tot). Your Dad, being a posh Northerner, can't get his head around Mam (and he thinks Mammy makes me sound like a large, black lady from the Deep South) so thinks I should be Mummy. But I can't get my head around that. It sounds so posh and English. Better get it sorted soon though, or you'll be all confused as to who I am and you'll end up calling me Milko or something.
Apart from that it's baby business as usual. Lots of dribbling, cooing, gurgling, giggling, farting, wiggling and looking incredibly cute. And you've still got the biggest, most gorgeous grin of any baby ever. And that's official.
Love, Mam (or Mummy or Mum. Or how about Mater?)
And if you could just learn to go to sleep in strange places so we can go to lunch or friends houses without it turning into Screamadelica 2007, that would be great. Thanks.