ROBERT, GAYU and HARRY are crammed onto a doily-bestrewn sofa; RACHEL and JEREMY devour scones with clotted cream. ANGLOPHILIA runs rampant.

Robert: I have an idea for a business! You know how men hate shopping for underwear? And you know Victoria’s Secret? And you know the delivery box services for fruit and vegetables, like Planet Organic?

R: I’m not sure I like where this is going…

Robert: It’s a delivery box for men’s underwear! I call it, ‘Victor’s Secret’!

J: “Shopping is hard! Let’s do math!”

Today in swim class, Claire blew bubbles, kicked and swam underwater from me to John.

Yesterday at UCSF, the fetus currently known as Zoe/Sam waved merrily to the ultrasound. The tech described it as a “cutie patootie”, which I believe is a technical term. Based on the results of that and some bloodwork, our risk of chromosomal abnormalities has been adjusted down from 1 in 300 to 1 in 3,400. I’m very relieved.

I’ve been a bit sick for the last three months. On the way back from the hospital, it occurred to me for the first time that having another kid like Claire might actually be a lot of fun. Quinn says this marks the official beginning of my second trimester.

There may be trouble brewing, though. Claire’s watching Robert Altman’s astoundingly beautiful ballet film, The Company. She loves the dance scenes, and calls them “belly bouncing.”

“Maybe she’ll be a dancer!” says Jeremy cheerily. I danced, very badly, for seven years, and glimpsed the very edge of professional ballet culture. I shudder. Luckily she’s a stocky little biscuit, so unless she magically transforms into a sylph at 5, I think she’s safe…

R: So, how’s your love life?

Steve: Well, I met this guy at Burning Man, but it turned out he was gay.

No sign of Bebe this morning. We searched the house and looked glumly at the twelve-foot trellises around the terrace. We just had a catflap put in the French doors so that Bebe could visit her litter tray al fresco. It looked like our fat, middle-aged feline had scaled the trellises in search of adventure.

Cut to: Rachel and Jeremy knocking on doors all round the block, interrupting at least one boink, begging the neighbours to keep an eye out, but if they see her not to pick her up. “She bites.”

Cut to: Jeremy printing out “Lost cat” flyers, Rachel weeping piteously and going off to put Claire’s laundry away.

Bebe was curled up in Claire’s pants drawer.

I lay on the floor of Claire’s bedroom and laughed till I cried some more.

Now we have a stack of “Lost cat” flyers for the cat who is contentedly sleeping on my bed.

R: Claire, are you my little blicket?

C (agreeably): Little blicket.

R: Are you my girl?

C (sure, whatever): Girl!

R: Are you my darling baby?

C: Darling baby… darling baby? Milo’s the baby.

R: Moebius would be a great name for a strip club.

J: Wha?

R: You know, with math grads shaking their booty.

J: It’s a bit one-sided.

R: It’s got an edge!

J: But the drinks are really small, because they come in Klein bottles.

R: That gives them an extra dimension.

Pause.

R: We really are nerds, huh.

J: Yup.

Later

R: What’s a concrete canoe?

J: Huh?

R: There’s a trailer going into the Marina saying “UC Berkeley Concrete Canoe”.

J: Oh, that. It’s a concrete canoe. It’s a standard project in civil engineering departments. They build ’em and race ’em, to learn the structural properties.

R: What is concrete, anyway?

J: Cement with rocks in it.

R: No, I mean, what is cement? What kind of a thing is it?

J: I dunno. I know you need the right kind of pointy sand, for the crystals to form.

R (dolefully): If I’d got that job on Concrete Weekly I’d know all of this.

J: You sure would.

Later still

R: What we need more of is SCIENCE!

J: Ah yes.

R: Got enough x to make a y, got enough forks to eat a pie…

J: You’re just making up words.

R: …got enough Euros to buy a pound, got enough rocks to build a mound!

J: I never knew you cairned.

New York, New York. We’re at a corporate retreat in the Hudson Valley, doing team-building exercises and arguing over whether the American remake of The Office is any good.

We launched the day the market crashed. Now we’re celebrating our fifth birthday, on April 1st. We survived by a somewhat narrower margin than the skin of our teeth. All hail the company!