Nap, icecream and ticking it off.

1. I love the nap timer on Nick's alarm clock -- you can set it for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour or an hour. I pick the hour.

2. Coconut icecream.

3. To watch a documentary about art nouveau in Paris and shout 'been there, been there' and the places we've visited.

Dressing, patisserie and a book.

1. Most mornings, if he doesn't sleep late, Alec "helps" Nick dress, following him from room to room. From the man chatter that I overhear as I doze in bed I understand that Alec always has to have a shave, too, and cleans the razor. I really appreciate the extra rest.

2. Alec picks out a fancy cake for Nana at the patisserie. "She's having a hard time at the moment," I say.
"Would she like a ribbon on the box? A pink one?" asks the girl behind the counter.
We think she would.

3. Nick brings me a present that I didn't know I wanted. It's a weighty, glossy book about an exhibition that I wanted to see but couldn't.

Talk, poetry and claim.

1. Alec goes to sleep very early which means I can eat supper with Nick. It feels so good to have a chat and a catch-up.

2. To sit in the front room as it gets dark and consume a few poems from Sarah's book for May. It feels  like eating a few chocolates without sharing.

3. I spotted a Cadbury's Caramel egg in the back of the cupboard last night. No-one has claimed it so I've eaten it.

Help, joke and making up.

1. When a visitor who is playing with Alec asks if they can do anything to help me with lunch I always think it funny that they don't realise they are already doing the most useful and valuable thing they could possibly be doing.

2. We manage to stumble on a slightly smutty political joke (it's complicated and wouldn't translate well to anyone who hadn't been with us and having our conversation). We laugh slightly nervously, and then we laugh properly.

3. There are evenings when I am driven mad by impatience at nursing Alec off to sleep. Tonight was one of those nights that make up for it. He was wriggling and thrashing and pulled himself off. I yelped and told him crossly that I wasn't going to let him have any more bub if he was going to hurt me. "What can you do to make me feel better?" (I was thinking of a quick re-cap of our rules -- lie still, nice big mouth and be gentle).
Instead he patted my cheek and said "Sorry, Mummy," in a voice full of contrition.
A bit later he unlatched and squirmed himself upwards. By way of explanation: "I'm just loving you." And he buried his face in my hair and sniffed loudly a few times.

No coat, clocks and unguarded.

1. When I ask, Nick says: "No, I wasn't going to wear a coat." So I go out into the sunshine without mine.

2. A succession of dandelion clocks keeps Alec amused on the trek through Sevenoaks. He manages to smuggle one into the hospital, which Grandad likes. We do try to conceal it from the nurses, but the seeds keep escaping.

3. Nick steals a kiss while we wait for the lift because the guardian of our morals is asleep in his pushchair.

Treasure, not a mummy and lemon curd.

1. Nana has sent Nick and Alec home with a treasure for Alec's cabinet of curiosities. It's a pebble full of holes that she found on a beach when she was eight. I hope we can look after it with the same care.

2. To spend a bit of time wandering round the food festival not being a mummy (I've left Alec and Nick asleep at home). Katie laughs at me because I've been walking with (not so) Baby Loey. But helping with someone else's child is totally different to wrangling and worrying about your own. And Chloe is small enough that I can pick her up and remove her from trouble; and though her walking is very good, she can't yet run as fast as Alec.

3. The jar of lemon and vanilla curd from Gill Wing Farm is a revelation -- I can taste both flavours quite distinctly (their brownie and their honey and rum cake are not half bad either).

Talk, voice and saving.

1. To luxuriate in an hour-long phonecall with Cat.

2. To hear Alec's voice on the door intercom when I go to pick him up from nursery.

3. Alec says he is going to save some of the cake he made at nursery for Nick. He won't let me hold it for him, though, and the piece gets smaller and soggier until finally there is none left.

Downstairs, handover and through the leaves.

1. Our friend in the shoe shop checks Alec's shoes downstairs so I don't have to drag my tired person and recalcitrant toddler up to the children's department. Her thoughtfulness is very much appreciated. I remember her helping me try on boots when I was heavily pregnant with Alec: "I'll help you in any way I can," she said, anxiously watching me bend to fasten them.

2. When I drop him off at nursery Alec is howling for bubby and saying that he doesn't want a nap. I know he wants to sleep because he has a tired face, but there is no way I'm going to nurse him off to sleep at nursery. "Bubby later," I say vaguely.
A staff member comes out and says "Hallo Alec!"
I actually feel him relax in my arms. "Bubby?" he says again, but this time with less toddler-rage.
"We'll get some milk in a cup for you," she says taking him from me. "And then you can have a lie-down." He seems quite happy with that.

3. While Alec pokes things with a stick in the shrubbery I look up at the bluest sky through the spring green leaves of the Grove's famous Turkey oak.

PS: Tunbridge Wells people, Manna on the High Street is offering suspended coffees.

Reading corner, thanks and show me.

1. I really need to crack on with lunch -- but Alec wants me to read to him. I set him up a comfy reading corner by the kitchen door with his sheepskin and couple of cushions and tell him to ask me any questions. He sits down with an enormous Dorling Kindersley train book across his knees. Every so often he enquires about the name of a particular engine, but apart from that I am free to cook.

2. As our holiday relief cleaner leaves (it's her last week) Alec calls to her: "Thank you for cleaning my sitting room."

2a. In the rain and after the grass has been cut the Grove looks and smells and is green.

3. We run into our neighbour in the park. Alec calls her over to a sign: "Look, Linda, a dog! It's doing a poo!"

Wake up, watching snails and new cushions.

1. I am woken by the words "How about me having some bubby?" I have no idea where he picks up this sort of phrasing, and I'm amazed at his ability to adapt it to his own needs.

2. When I get back from the midwife the mother tells me that she and Alec have spent the afternoon watching snails in the garden.

3. New seat cushions with an interesting library print. They make the kitchen chairs ten times more comfortable and a lot smarter.

Donation, end of the party and bowing.

1. A mother friend mentions that she is preparing to donate part of her liver to her son. She brings it up almost casually, like it's no big deal. Of course it is: it's major surgery, with all sorts of risks. But I realise that I would do the same for Alec. The bond of blood and love between us would make the choice for me.*

2. The tulips at Tonbridge Castle have blown themselves out into gorgeous blousey ragged red cups. They remind me of elderly bon vivants hanging around at the end of a party.

3. A tourist seems to be bowing Japanese-style -- but when I look properly he is trying to shade the sun off his camera screen so he can examine his pictures.

* If you're in the UK and would like to be on the NHS organ donor register it takes about 45 seconds to sign up.

Deciphered, resting and a tin of biscuits.

1. I think I might have deciphered the snack-time tantrums. For the last few weeks he has come downstairs after his nap, asked for a snack and then had a melt-down when I gave him something. I thought I was giving the wrong snack, so offered a choice. Then I thought that the choice must be too much to handle so offered a limited choice. Then I resorted to "This is the snack and if you don't want it you're not hungry." This seems mean and he still has a shout about it, but at least the snack doesn't get thrown across the room.
Today I put his biscuit on the corner of the table and sat down (trying to rest as much as possible, see below).
He flung himself down on the floor, opened his mouth for a howl and then stopped. "Snack on your knee?"
He came up and ate his biscuit happy as you like. Was that really it? Perhaps it's not about the snack at all, he just wants a cuddle and a chance to re-connect.

2. I've been coming over all faint -- normal during pregnancy -- and the only relief comes from lying on my side for half an hour. Luckily my e-book can access BBC i-Player, so I've been catching up on a bit of TV while I wait.

3. The recipe makes 24 biscuits, which makes for a very full tin.

Timings, tunes and earwax.

1. Nick and Alec come back from the butchers very proud that they remembered to ask about timings for cooking the joint.

2. Alec is not happy about waiting for his lunch, but it's marvellous the way a bit of music calms and distracts him. I have a playlist for him -- a non-sweary round-up from my own favourites list, some songs that I sing to him and a few children's tunes that don't set our teeth on edge. Today he is particularly curious about and delighted by 'What a Wonderful World'. "What dis, Daddy?"

3. Alec informs me that his earwax tastes good. He makes a great show of digging in his ears, offering me some and then licking his fingers. His face when he actually gets a taste tells a very different story.

Still asleep, for the weekend and going to sleep.

1. To get a bit of a lie-in beside a gently breathing Alec while Nick moves in and out of the room.

2. I don't have much shopping to carry home so I can get a few treats for the weekend -- biscuits for tea and some Italian salami for supper.

3. While I am settling Alec off to sleep we accidentally bash heads in the dark. I come off worst: tears spring to my eyes and my lip swells up. He says "Come here, Mummy, and have a cuddle." The last thing he says before he falls asleep is "I love you."

Handover, gale treasures and working together.

1. I start to apologise for handing over a howling Alec (he is ready for his nap but not prepared to admit it) but the nursery staff tell me not to worry and carry him off for a cup of milk and a cuddle.

2. The wind has torn down some leafy twigs from the copper beech in the park. I pick one up and carry it home for the flower vase. Alec has found himself a sprig of bubblegum pink cherry blossom and looks very pleased with it.

3. I love the evenings when Nick and I get Alec ready for bed together. He basks on the bed all pink and white and warm and wriggly while we pull on his nappy and his pyjamas.

Space ship, a gift and cure.

1. Alec scrambles up the climbing frame and announces that it's a space ship.

2. Nick brings home a book I've been hankering after (it's the next Railway Detective novel).

3. A hot bath with a lot of drops of cold remedy added.

Meadow flowers, getting down to it and the games master.

1. "You should have seen the dandelions before I cut it," says my father of his lawn. He has left a drift of blue speedwell and a rogue clump of primroses.

2. The opportunity to put my head down and work.

3. The Tuesday Knights gather -- I missed the last session, the first of a new campaign, because I was ill. The party gallops enthusiastically through the adventure Meredith has set for us. Judging from the muttering behind her screen during combat rounds she has a competitive side that I didn't suspect before. It definitely adds to the fun.

Chasing, warning and be loved.

1. Alec hoots and shrieks with laughter as he runs his odd shuffly toddler run, chasing Nick through the park.

2. As I am pulling jasmine tendrils off the wall our neighbour shouts a helpful warning about a tangled cable.

3. Alec has a meltdown about his snack. Too much choice? Too little choice? Wrong options? Who knows: not me, and I don't think he does either. The moment when he reaches up and asks me for comfort.

Shopping, getting it done and reading in bed.

1. Nick and Alec come back from town with some cleverly selected books -- one combines Alec's interests in dinosaurs and farming; the other meets his needs for stickers (do all two-year-olds love stickers?) and trains.

2. We're all a bit sleepy and grumpy after our naps, but we've vowed to change the beds. We encourage one another -- when I flag, Nick picks up the task. When Nick gets distracted by Alec hiding in the duvet cover, I get us back on track.

3. To get into a clean bed with a comforting book.

Sharing, knowledge and just passing.

1. The grandmother and little boy sitting across from us on the train share their rice cakes with Alec. And for me she has some wise words about caring for a toddler and newborn. I didn't quite dare glance across the aisle at her daughter-in-law in case she was rolling her eyes.

2. "And that" Nick tells Alec pointing to a statue on a column off to our right, "is the Grand of Duke of York." This is the sort of thing that makes me enjoy wandering round London with Nick.

3. We happen to be passing just as the bird keeper comes out with a tray of fish for the pelicans.

Baby in a basket, holding hands and scampering.

1. The baby grins fatly (and wetly) from the clothes basket in the shade. He looks very pleased to be out in the garden with a few toys and some toddlers to watch.

2. Alec and B run across the kitchen holding hands.

3. On the way home from nursery on a sunny evening, to let Alec out of his pushchair for a scamper across the park. He runs into the bushes and tells me not to look.

Bones, the student and it's coming.

1. Alec turns up his nose at chicken casserole, baked potato and creamed corn. He asks for the bone, which I lovingly removed when I was shredding the meat for him. He chews it until it splinters and then sucks at the marrow inside. This is one my own less appealing habits, but I swear I've never done it in front of him.

2. My chiropractor has a tall and beautiful blonde German student sitting in on her appointments today. The patient after me is a lanky teenage boy and I can't help but think "Tee hee hee" as I pass.

3. The fuzz of palest green in the lime trees outside the town hall.

Cleaner, child seat and dry earth.

1. Our relief cleaner produces from her bag a bar of raspberry chocolate for Alec. She has also built an impressive cushion edifice on Nick's bed.

2. I thought Alec might like the hairdressers' special child seat -- but I hadn't anticipated quite how much. It has a steering wheel that (along with the digger in the street outside) keeps him enthralled for the entire cut.

3. Alec is playing in some dry earth. He squats down and stirs it up with a stick. "Steam!" he says.
"It's dust," I tell him.
"I think it steam."
"Well I think it's dust."
"It steam."

Front garden, flowers and sleepy boy.

1. We have a weeping tree, about waist high and something like a goat willow, in our front garden. At this time of year it is particularly charming and I feel very pleased every time I pass it. I cleared out the dead wood a couple of weeks ago and now the glossy branches are studded with tender green leaves.

2. I come home to find a daffodil head floating in a ramekin of water on the kitchen table. The Mother says that a little girl in the park picked it for Alec.

3. While I am reading to him poor tired Alec falls asleep leaning against my bump.

Footsteps, chasing and in the pot.

1. Alec stops crying when he hears Nick's footsteps at a little before 5am. I am glad to hear them, too.

2. Rosey comes swimming with us -- she does great work chasing the runaway Alec round the changing rooms (he locks himself in one of the gents' cubicles and shouts at us to get away from his train carriage) and then around Tonbridge Castle. It is very pleasant to watch him ranging and exploring without needing to run after him.

3. I introduce Alec to reading on the loo. We run though Pirate Pete's Potty twice, and as we start a second book (one with lots of dripping) he announces that he has done "a big widdle in the pot".

New leaves, whistling and detail.

1. Bright green leaves on a hawthorn hedge.

2. As we come through the front door, the sound of Grandad whistling.

3. It dawns on me that the 'chips' Alec is complaining about are the tiny snips of chive on his potatoes. I pick both of them out and he digs in.

Pineapple, resting and relief.

1. Alec doesn't like pineapple, so I snaffle it the last pieces.

2. To lie in bed and let my mind wander.

3. A few sips of milk for a case of heartburn.

Dinosaurs at home, details and grape hyacinths.

1. While we're waiting to see the photos of Alec's afternoon at nursery he shows me two plastic dinosaurs, both long-necked herbivores. "Mummy dinosaur and baby dinosaur. Oh no, baby dinosaur fall down. Mummy dinosaur pick him up." He twines their necks and then lays them down side by side, saying "Have some dinosaur bub." I open my mouth to explain the crucial difference between mammals and reptiles, and then I shut my mouth.

3. I love the little details that she picks out about Alec's afternoon: "I asked him about his holiday and he said 'Steam train!'" and "I was painting some letters for our springtime display and he came over and asked to help."

3. Among the artwork on the wall are some very effective grape hyacinths -- a long stroke of green paint and then little blue fingerprints for the petals.

Train, in the garden and saying no.

1. I can hear Alec and Godfather Timothy in the front room playing with Alec's Bumpity Train (it's his scooter with his toddling cart full of bricks tied to the back as a tender full of coal). Alec is telling Tim to get into the carriage (the two little chairs) and Tim is saying that he is too big. I was confronted by the same request yesterday.

2. There is suddenly enough mint in the garden that I can pick some for the potatoes. Chives, too.

3. "They didn't do that blowing in your eye thing did they? I hate that more than anything," says a horrified Nick when I tell him about my eye test (they'd used a puffing thing to test the pressure of the fluid in my eyeballs). He continues anxiously, "I thought they'd got a new machine so they didn't have to do that any more."
I say "Next time just say no. You don't have to let them do anything you don't want."

Our time, cleaning out the cupboard and cuddles.

1. We wake up and have a cuddle -- and no-one tells us: "It not kissing time, it bre'fas' time. Put your glasses on and go downstairs."

2. Our bedroom cupboard (fondly known as Narnia because it goes back far further than it should) is a mess and has been a mess for a long time. There is no floor space. The rails are clogged with empty hangers and out-of-season clothes. If you go in for bed linen towels fall on your head. The Christmas decorations are always in front of the thing you want. There's an unbagged duvet somewhere on the floor, and I know the iron is in there... but I haven't seen it for months. I pull everything out, then dust and vacuum. I cull a few things that have been kept I know not why and bag a few things up that shouldn't be loose. Then I put everything left back, this time in a rational way. I end up with floor space and an empty shelf. I could not have been more pleased if Aslan had padded out with a couple of fauns riding on his back.

3. My mother brings Alec back after lunch. For the rest of the day, whatever we're doing, he keeps giving me spontaneous cuddles. I've missed him too.