Leave house for first time in approximately one month to present Infant, now 2 weeks of age, to Registrar at local market town. Rise at 6.30am for 9.30am departure, which transpires to be uncharacteristically prudent decision, as Infant requires 2 hours 55 minutes to prepare himself for first outing, engaging in 90 minute breakfast in bed whilst watching television, two nappy changes and somewhat violent struggle to get him dressed in babygro, vest, hooded top and cap with picture of cat on it before being well wrapped in blankets and laden in car in expensive and complicated car seat with pram, carry cot, toys, and bag filled with nappies, two changes of clothes, two muslin squares, packet of wipes, roll of kitchen paper (NOTE TO SELF: am forcibly reminded of own preparations for Saturday night in local pub), whereupon drive twenty minutes to destination, unload and unwrap Infant, assemble pram, load Infant in with weather shield and rain cover, and wheel a distance of precisely ten yards to town hall. Infant, now yelling with some vigour,  is extracted from pram and presented to Registrar, who studies him in disapproval and completes paperwork. Infant duly Registered within a few minutes, and we celebrate by driving to B&Q, where Husband attempts unsuccessfully to purchase piece of wood for unknown masculine reasons which I am not prepared to investigate. Rest of day passes in sleep deprived haze of feeding Infant, moving piles of laundry and ironing to different locations about house, and watching extremely bizarre staging of Handel’s Messiah on Sky Arts 2.  [QUERY: Is this likely tenor of coming days of maternity leave? ANSWER comes there none].