It's 8p.m., the kid is bathed, the flat is sort-of tidy and dinner is prepped. Having scarfed down half a packet of chocolate digestives with tea on my return from Brixton this afternoon (proof I am becoming more British by the day, I suppose) I'm in no rush to get cooking, though. Nope, with Jack in the other room making contented sounds from his bed, I'm happy to put my feet up and catch up on a thing or two on the computer machine - a few worky things, another look at a Master's Programme I'm fantasizing about taking come fall, a bit of a search for some kind of amazing yoga DVD that will both unlock my seized up hip flexors and ensure my abs will protect my back and -- perhaps more pressing -- allow me to banish my maternity jeans to the back of the closet for good. Then it's time for what sometimes seems like the never-ending process of Keeping In Touch -- trying to bridge the Atlantic divide with another album of photos on Picassa to distribute to interested parties, a video of smiling Jack for Grammie to share with her friends on holiday in Florida and finally, giving into temptation and posting a photo on FB for the simple and semi-guilty pleasure of enjoying the ensuing digital coos from far-flung friends. I'm a chatty person and a communicator by nature (see: Blogging, despite minimal sleep), so mostly doing this is a pleasure. But sometimes it just serves to underline the fact that for all the people who rave about Skype... it's just... not the same. Luckily the computer machine is also pretty good for buying things like plane tickets - and luckier for me still there are a lot of those waiting to be used -- Spain with Dad, home to Mom and Sarah here from Dublin -- in the coming weeks and months. Because sometimes, only an IRL coo will do.