Bristol. I have taken over about half the lounge so far, working on the rest.

Bristol. Drinking from a plastic polar beer pint cup.

Bristol. I own the kitchen too.

Exeter. I don’t care if you’ve had a long day at work, read to me serf.

Exeter. This is my playpen, changing mat, the sofa, the family table…oh yes, and mummy and daddy’s bed. I’ve taken over the one bedroom now.

(Mini Mitton bloggers would like to apologise for the increasing reliance on camera phone pictures.)

Now I know why daddy keeps trying to persuade mummy to go swinging, this is fun!

Daddy. Comfy, but not very stylish. A rugged 4×4 workhorse.

Pushchair. Able to affect ‘baby about town’ catalogue pose quite effectively here. Convertible.

New forward facing carseat. Peugeot 406 diesal estate. It says sensible, practical, family man. How could Zoe resist?

Rocker horse. Slow, shoddily made and a terrible ride. Suspension crude.

Crawling. You have to be joking mum. Why would I crawl when you carry/ push/ drive me everywhere. Pull the other one.

Jim Moriarty is THIRTY today! Happy Birthday to him.
(I’m still in my twenties you know)

Lovely Zoe is one! And not a wrinkle in sight. Evan thinks she is mysterious and exotic, what with her leicester accent and her crawling antics. Another brilliant Hallam-Hall party – thankyou.
Oh yes, and Matt and Jim taught their babies to play some kind of Fifa game on the playstation. What shining pillars of fatherhood.

Look, no grown ups helping! (The strings are for safety purposes only).

Still loving those keys!

We’ve been too busy having fun (and doing washing in my case) to update – despite your protestations – but there are SO many updates out there – circling in a holding pattern. Here is Evan at Weston-Super-Mare to keep you ticking over.

Wake up looking cute, get carried about and cuddled. Pose for paparazzi.

Offered pureed strawberries and blueberries as am very posh. Pose for paparazzi.

Spread it all over face. I wanted mango. Pose for paparazzi.

End up in hot water but turn it to my advantage. Pose for paparazzi.

Cuddled, kissed, adored. Pose for paparazzi.

(I don’t know why he’s started calling me paparazzi! Funny baby.)

Is increasingly becoming a brutal, bloody battlefield in our house. As you can tell.