My child now asks for Om Pady Hom … which, in case you still have post-baby jelly brain … is really Om Mani Padme Hom and is a Buddhist chant. To calm him through his crying fits – whether from the reflux, the sleep training, or my total lack of ability to be anywhere near him – I would either play the CD of chants (the very ones that calmed my nerves on many death-defying bus journeys through India) or chant to him in my very own off-key tone. It is a coincidence that he was trained like Pavlov’s dog but he now has his own chant and it is a relief to everyone that there is something that calms him instantly.

I chose reading to him, above the ubiquitous kid-friendly DVDs, which I couldn’t bring myself to watch let alone inflict them on my child. I only had one children’s book in the house at the time – Mr Happy (a gift I had bought my husband when we were in London and he was miserable) – so, when I was thoroughly sick of reading that, I turned to my subscription of the Economist and let him drift to sleep over the latest news of global economies and banking scandal. Turns out, it usually sent me into a deep, much-needed slumber too. Another Pavlov victory: he loves listening to me read to him and can sit still for hours while I read anything I have with me at the time.