Good news and bad news.

Don't panic - the bad news doesn't relate directly to mother or baby, who are both in rude health as far as we know. However we have all been very upset by a big change in our circumstances, which I don't really want to talk about, but feel like I should.

Last week we came to the very difficult decision to have our dog, Frankie, rehomed. He has always been hard work on account of his boisterous, energetic nature. And he has always found it very difficult to make friends with any other animals (apart from humans), not least our cats. They understandably found his presence quite inconvenient, to the point where one of them once tried to blind him, and very nearly succeeded. Frankie, it turned out, is not one for forgiving and forgetting.

We had hoped that moving house would somehow break his bad habits. But no. This was new territory and it was up for grabs. I refuse to describe him as an aggressive dog, but you don't have to be malicious to be dangerous. After a couple of weeks of rapidly decreasing authority over him we arrived, tired, stressed and bruised, at the realisation that something had to give. So Frankie is currently at the doggy hotel waiting for his new family to find him. The lady who runs the kennels did her best to assure us that Frankie won't pine for us, and that we have done the right thing for all concerned. But this was still the most upset I have been in a long time.

We know we have made the right decision and I'm not trying to justify anything here, because we don't need to. But this was not an easy choice, and had nothing to do with our convenience or happiness, because it certainly doesn't feel like we have achieved either. Rather - and this is what makes the situation relevant to this blog - we have made our first truly difficult, but responsible parental decision. I think we have started to learn the lesson that you have to risk making yourself unpopular, and you have to risk making yourself cry to keep your child safe at all costs. I think we are becoming grown ups.

Which doesn't exactly bring me to the good news, but it's about time for some, so here it is: my wife had a scan for medical reasons last week. It wasn't a fun one, during which you just look at the baby and coo and point and then take a photo home. But the nice lady doing the scanning did her best to manufacture that situation, sneaking in a look inside the bump and revealing that, to the best of her knowledge (which seems to translate as "probably"), it contained a girl. We are having either a girl or a very modest boy. Well, no son of mine...etc, so we are assuming that this tentative gender diagnosis is correct.

As my description of this news as "good" implies, we are very happy about this. For the record, I thought it was going to be a girl, and a small part of this happiness derives simply from being right. But I do like the idea of being the father of a daughter. Mainly, just knowing (or probably knowing) makes it all seem more real. Which is nice. We have chosen a name, but revelations of it thus far have met with a slightly upsetting mixed reception, so I'm being shy about it now.

In other news: Cessation of sickness, itchiness and smoking continue successfully, and my wife falls asleep at precisely half past nine every evening.