The longer I spend as a parent, the more I realise that it’s a bit like being a detective, and not only because I look strung out, wear a trenchcoat and am full of droll maxims such as: “You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from a baby.”
Having a baby who can’t tell you what’s going on with it means having to solve a mystery every single day. Say the baby is whingeing. First, you run through the usual checklist. Is the baby hungry? Is his nappy full? Is he sleepy? Does he have wind? Once you’ve ascertained which one it is, you go back to the start, because it’s probably something else by now.
