When I get home my beamish boy greets me. However I now have the added bonus of him clinging to me as if I have been away for weeks, spurning advances from his mum and staring at her from under his furrowed brow, as if she has been pinching him all day (she convinces me she has not and and has taken him swimming, singing and swinging).
For now, and until the post-holiday-Daddy-overload has dissipated, he is my Klingon baby.
