On Sunday, we went to the beach. It sounds like a pretty stupid idea towards the end of a December afternoon, but we were bored of being at home, so we decided to set off anyway. Sticklepath is just about as far from the sea as it's possible to be in Devon, so we plumped on Exmouth as the quickest to get to. Mike had also decided that it needed to be a pebbly beach, so Bude was out.

Owing to a huge traffic jam just north of Exmouth, we rethought our plans and headed for Budleigh Salterton instead, just a bit further east on the coast. We arrived at about 4.20, by which time the sun was getting very low in the sky. Had we done a very, very silly thing?

Within five minutes we knew that the answer was definitely 'No'. Bridget found running away from the incoming waves (in Daddy's arms) gigglingly funny. And the pebbles were perfect - large, round, flat, coming in all sorts of colours, shapes and sizes. We spent about twenty minutes just sitting on the beach, piling up cairns of pebbles, handing them to Bridget for her to turn over and over in her hands, throwing them out into the breakers when she handed them back to us. It was a lovely, lovely evening, with a beautiful sunset over the bay to match.

We have some pictures - we will definitely try to get them up onto the web soon, along with a few others from November.

We realize that we have probably been giving people tantalizing hints about Bridget's walking progress in various of the recent blog entries. Just so you know - she hasn't done it by herself yet. We will definitely get that on the blog the moment it happens.

She is, however, getting much more confident about assisted walking. A month ago she was content to push her car around, with a parent prevent it from running away from her and leaving her stranded on her tummy. About two weeks ago, this progressed to managing with the support of a parent's hands (mores unstable than a car, so a bit more scary for Bridget). In the last couple of days she has successfully manoeuvred walking holding only one parental hand, although these walks tend to end with very graceful pirouettes to subside on the floor.

Meanwhile, Bridget has had one or two moments of standing without support, but they have been short and few and far between. It still seems that she is very hesitant about letting go until she is more than absolutely sure that she'll be safe.

On Wednesday evening, I had popped in to the bathroom to check on Bridget's bath running. Bridget was on her way up the stairs - in the last couple of weeks she has become so competent with climbing and descending the stairs, that we haven't been worried about her on them.

Suddenly, I heard two loud bumps, followed by a heart-rending wail. I rushed out to see what had happened. Bridget was lying at the bottom of the stairs, face down. I rushed down to her and picked her up straight away. She was distraught and continued to scream as I held her and came upstairs to turn the bath taps off. Carrying her around the house eventually calmed her down, after about ten minutes, which is definitely the longest she's cried after a tumble. However, any attempt to hint at putting her down led to fresh wails.

When she had settled, I realised that her eyes were drooping quite a bit. I knew that she shouldn't go to sleep if she had concussion, and thought it would be wise to ring NHS Direct for some advice about keeping an eye on a baby with concussion. I was a bit surprised to find that, having listened to my account, the nurse on the other end told me that Bridget should probably be taken in for a check at the hospital, even though she hadn't been unconscious at all and was now relatively calm. Confessing that I didn't have a car (with Mike teaching in Exeter) led to an ambulance being summoned while I was still on the phone.

The ambulance arrived not more than about seven minutes later, so must have come from Okehampton. That just about gave me time to bundle a spare set of clothes and a nappy into Bridget's change bag. The paramedics were very friendly and calm, but Bridget wasn't keen on letting them look in her eyes, or feel her head. I carried her out to the ambulance - my first ever trip in one - and got settled on the couch. I was strapped in, rather than Bridget, since they thought that she wouldn't take kindly to being held down by anything other than Mummy. Off we set.

About two miles into the journey, Bridget threw up in spectacular fashion (paramedic: I see you had peas for your tea, young lady; me: oh, and the mango's back as well). It went everywhere. All over Bridget's clothes. All over Mummy's clothes (no spare change there!). All over the sheet on the ambulance couch. We had to pull over while Bridget was stripped and I did the best I could to clean myself up. Bridget was then wrapped up in a blanket and put back in my arms. Once we got out onto the dual carriageway the trip was much smoother but, by the time we arrived at the hospital, Bridget had been sick again, and I was feeling distinctly queezy.

We were taken into the hospital and settled in the minor injuries part of A and E. After I'd got my breath back a bit, I decided that it was time I got hold of Mike, since it was now 8.30 and he finished teaching at 9. I had tried the mobile earlier (one of the rare occasions when he was carrying it), but got the answerphone. So I ended up asking the administrator at A and E to try and get through to the porter in the building where he was teaching, and he tracked Mike down.

The rest has been said by Mike. Nursery actually didn't allow Bridget to stay in - they won't take a child who has spent the night in hospital - so I took her home and grabbed 45 minutes' sleep while she was having her nap. We've now just about caught up on sleep, but it will be a while before we feel confident about leaving Bridget alone anywhere near the stairs.