And so the cord undergoes its first significant bit of slackening thus far. Yes, as of Tuesday night, Olivia took up residence in her own bedroom. Though we were separated merely by a wall so flimsy it almost precluded the need to switch on the monitor, it might as well have been miles. Indeed it's hard to imagine that we will feel any more forlorn and abandoned when Olivia leaves home 18 years down the line to pursue her dream of being a writer for NME -did someone mention something about not using your children as a vessel through which you chase your unfulfilled ambitions? No, I must have been hearing things - than as we leaned towards the monitor to eavesdrop on every ruffle of her sheets.

The night before had seen Olivia - and us - endure her worst nights sleep so far, as we paced the landing for hours as one fit of crying died out only for another to flare into being. Working on the principle that things couldn't get any worse, we took the plunge earlier than initially planned to give her the extra leg-room that the increasingly cramped Moses basket denied her.

The result was an excellent night's sleep for her, and even more excitingly, an early night for us (of the doing the crossword in bed variety). With Olivia in her own domain, we no longer have to tiptoe round the bedroom, fearful of making the tiniest noise or turning on the light. Indeed with the time nearing 9:45 pm it's to the crossword - and a quick flick through the NME, which reminds me that I must cancel it next time I'm in th newsagent - that I must go...