Another fortnight has flown by and Tim is going through an identity crisis. He thinks his name is "Hello Gorgeous", and responds to my greeting with an accepting smile.
He has discovered other babies - his second cousin Christina, who is an awesome nine months at this stage, came to visit. Much bigger than Tim, she took control immediately, showing him what to do with his toys and kicking back twice as hard as Tim kicks. He had an easier time with Fiona, another friend's baby.
Although older than him by a month, the two of them recognised each other as belonging to the same species, and were fascinated with each other for as long as their attention spans lasted.
Tim loves to watch me blowing raspberries at him. His eyes widen, and then he laughs a huge toothless laugh.
Both of us had our final hospital visits - mine passed smoothly, my obstetrician is going to the same place on honeymoon as I went. Tim's also went well.
The rash, whatever it is, although still in existence and now all over his body, doesn't seem to be irritating him as much, and bathing and moisturising him every day soothes it.
The paediatrician confirmed Tim has reflux, but as he threw up the medicine the paediatrician recommended, there isn't much we can do about it. It was also hard to get him to take it from a spoon, as he would hit the spoon and spill it over himself and me.
I thought I was very clever one day, and washed and sterilised a dropper from a different bottle, which I then proceeded to use to give him the medication. It seemed to take forever, and I was only halfway through the medication when I remembered that the dropper only held 0.5ml and I had to give him 15ml.
He then threw up what I had given him so it was a total waste of time, and I have now stopped trying to get him to take it at all.
It means, however, that every excursion is trial and error. We had a sociable week, going to Tim's cousins for a barbecue one day, and his Dublin grandparents for lunch another day.
The barbecue was spent feeding him and then consoling him when he threw his feed back up.
He hates getting sick. Lunch in a friend's house resulted in the friend walking around with him over her shoulder as I ate, and I had to make an emergency stop in Fiona's house on the way home to feed him again, such was the noise he was making.
The hot days mean that he wants to eat, or at least, drink more often and, as a result, has to contend with his digestion problems more often too.
Heat has been a big problem - one night the thermometer read 23 degrees even with the windows all open and I couldn't get it lower. Because Tim is nearly two months old, I'm very conscious of the risks of S.I.D. and heat is supposedly a factor.
We had a visit during the week from Tim's great-aunt and grandmother. They took to work the minute they arrived, removed every marauding weed from the garden, and planting an array of wonderful plants.
It was one of the best presents we've been given, and it means that Tim and I can enjoy the long summer days without me looking around and feeling guilty about the state the garden is in.
• Susan Hayden is an Irish Times staff member - her column on the first year of motherhood appears every fortnight.