My baby is almost 8 months old now. The first few months are such a blur in my memory. I remember those first nights home from the hospital in the dead of winter, sleeping next to the cradle in the lounge room, because it was the only room that we could heat. The condensation dripped down the insides of the window panes, looking out over those bare plane trees. Night and day I wore the same clothes. My hair was permanently on end, bed headed. Perry cluster fed for eight or nine hours straight. I was a prisoner of the couch for weeks. Al used to cut my food up into little pieces and hand feed it to me along with the mantra, “You…