Which means I get to read it. And read it. And read it again.
It's good that it's not a book that makes me want to shred my own fingers - I can think of lots of those types. The mind-numbingly painful ones that have been written by folk with no imagination.
I like the fact that it is classic, with nappies flapping on the line, rather than being eaten by seagulls on the landfill.
The book is rather quaint and charming; probably because it was written over 20 years ago, when babies weren't as much of a commercialised business as they are today.
And that babies get to have real milk - that isn't often shown in children's books - it's usually bottles. And not that bottles are wholly wrong, it's just lovely to see a mother with her boobs out for the right reasons
And that there are pictures of mummies and daddies. When asking our little pixie which picture looks like her daddy, she of course said the picture that resembles Ricky Tomlinson brushing his teeth.
My chap was thrilled, as you can imagine.
My Sunday laze-a-thon turned into a bit of a crafternoon, starting some crochet flowers for a wedding we're going to in a few weeks.
I have also made an inner for the flower, and am fastening it to a hair slide.
I also have a cutesy little vintage button to pop on to finish it off. Will photograph it when it's completed.
It's Bank Holiday Monday today, which means block all to us, but I can probably wangle another lazy day because of it. Hurrah :)