It's not just the infant screaming that has left my eardrums with multiple piercings, but also the selective hearing that has resulted from having to screen out unwanted advice from well-meaning relatives and complete strangers in the supermarket.

These days I hear only what I want to and not really well.

Recently we were racing out the door to get to the doctor for my four-year-old's vaccinations. I hadn't been looking forward to these and so had sat Lara down for a little preparatory chat.

"This morning we're going to have needles," I said, "but I'll be right with you the whole time, it won't take long and we'll have an ice-cream afterwards."

"Yippee!" she said, as fickle as her mother when there's dessert involved. "Let's go!"

At that very moment, the lady next door popped over to introduce herself. We'd only recently moved into the neighbourhood and I'd been wondering if she could hear our signature loudness.

"Look," I said, "it's my husband that plays the Barbra Streisand CDs. We think he might be gay."

"No, that's fine," she said. "I just wanted to welcome you to the area and also say - I hope you don't mind - that your son might need grommets.

"He's very loud and his speech seems to be slurring. My son had the same problem and grommets fixed it instantly."

Whatever happened to a plate of welcome muffins?

I thanked my neighbour and assured her that we had already been to every hearing specialist under the sun, but also resolved to go back to the doctor and get Carlton checked out again.

In the meantime, vaccinations. We sat patiently in the doctor's waiting room, Lara playing happily with the diseased toys on offer, while I wondered how it was that a girl who'd last week been afraid of a garden gnome now had no problems having something sharp pushed into her arm.

"You're being very brave about your needles," I said to Lara, encouragingly.