I am a worrier.  I worry to my bones about anything and everything.  I worry so much that I even grind my teeth at night in my sleep, much to Mr B's annoyance.  To be fair to him though it must sound HORRIFIC.  Almost as horrific I imagine as the speech-intolerant jaw-ache I am left with for the first two hours of the morning. "Tea?" "Yeshh pweerz." Now that the boy is on the move my worry, no my downright terror levels have hit a new high. I vaguely remember having a whinge on here at some point at how long it took him to learn to crawl. What was I thinking? Those days were ...

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