I've been so busy lately I've barely had time to think. It's hard to believe I have only worked five weeks in the new job: the months of sleeping in are already a distant memory.
Last week was so hectic I missed going with the gang to meet our friend's new baby. He and his girlfriend are delighted with their newborn bundle of joy and his arrival has caused great excitement among our group of mid-20s friends -- it's a sign that things are changing.
I missed out on the ceremonial wetting of the baby's head when they headed out to celebrate Jacob's arrival, so at this stage I'm just dying to meet him.
It's amazing the things that men will think of when chatting about babies. I quizzed the girls on who he looked like and just how tiny he is. It seems the lads had other matters to discuss with their friend on his new arrival.
Coming home after the pub my boyfriend was hard-pressed to remember the baby's weight and other important details, despite spending the evening with the first-time dad.
He did relay to me an interesting conversation from the pub -- typically it was about football. While celebrating, the new dad talked excitedly of buying a mini Man United jersey, keen to get his son in red and white as soon as possible.
The lads piped in and said he should best wait and see if the baby grows up to support Man United or, indeed, if he becomes a football fan at all. The debate got heated as the lads all contributed their advice on their sacred sport, wild gesticulations and loaded opinions, each one pertaining to be wiser then the next.
The proud father leaned forward calmly. His son, not yet a day old, was born a fan of the Red Devils, and that was final.
It never fails to amaze me the passion that football can ignite among men. "It's like this," he added indignantly. "He can choose whatever religion he wants -- but he's not choosing his own football team!"