So. Hello then, Erin Sophie. Second child of our friends Theresa and Jonathan. Welcome to the planet. Just a few words, then, to get you started.
First of all. Ten pounds seven ounces? My God. Your poor mother. You'll be walking before she is.
Secondly. Your name. I know you had no choice in this. We'll have to have a word with your Mom about this one. But she stole it from Katie, my wife, She Who Must Be Obeyed. I'll tell you now that the chances of me and Katie having children, this side of a Biblical miracle and lottery win, are lower than a snake's abdomen. But she was really rather keen on the name Erin in the unlikely event of a daughter* coming along. It's a beautiful name, but now one of her friends has used it, she can't. Not that she was going to have the opportunity in any case, but you see, adults aren't always logical about things like that. That's something you'll learn pretty soon, too.
By the way, if you ever meet my mother (you won't be able to miss her, she's the small excitable lady who's making scones), do not mention the above paragraph under any circumstances. She has this whole, "I suppose I'll never be a Grandmother" thing going on. Did I tell you she was excitable?
Third. Your own mother will be this wonderful presence in your life; nurturing, caring, teaching you right from wrong. She will be your best friend and your role model. But we're the ones who saw her doing the Pulp Fiction dance in her wedding dress at the reception, way back when.
Fourth. You've been born in the period around Bonfire Night. Sorry about that - it will quieten down in a few weeks.
*(And Rory if it was a boy. It might be an Irish thing on my part.)