Dear Isla, You are six months and a bit. You are my Monkey, my Strumpet, My Favourite Baby. The first time I held you, I told you you’d been here before. And there’s an old soul shining out of your bright blue-grey-silver eyes. On a somewhat related note, I’m sorry for thinking that milk-blister made you look like a tiny version of Nanny McPhee for your first few days. I take it back. And I promise that wasn’t the reason…
