It's so easy to slip into old habits, even ones you think you gave up years ago.

There I was, convinced I was cured of a mild addiction to daytime TV. Then we have another baby and what do you know? I'm back to watching Lorraine Kelly and Kilroy and Richard and Judy all over again.

I give myself the excuse there's little else I can do while breastfeeding. Reading a book is awkward and listening to the radio is disturbed by four-week-old Max's noisy guzzling and whingeing. At least with the telly you get both sight and sound. It's also much less challenging for the sleep-deprived. The most intellectually stimulating thing I've watched lately was a cartoon version of Hamlet.

Little seems to have changed in the four years since I was last babybound and hooked on trash TV. Lorraine Kelly, my fantasy big sister, is still talking about anti-ageing treatments - something her programme must feature at least 50 times a year - and I'm still none the wiser.

And Richard and Judy are still lurching from comedy to tragedy although they're on a lower pedestal these days, I see.

I'd also forgotten the enjoyment to be found in Hollywood matinees. I wouldn't dream of watching any of them in the evening but lunchtime is perfect for a bit of Gene Kelly.

The best thing has been catching up with old episodes of ER (Channel 4, 12.30pm most days). Luckily, I've conditioned Max to wake up to the signature tune of the programme and demand a feed. Even though I don't believe in forcing little babies into a routine, I think it's important Max learns now how to keep his mother happy.

My husband, who says television is the invention of the Devil and refuses to watch anything that isn't The Simpsons, is appalled by my behaviour.

"You could get therapy," he suggested one morning when I was trying to work out how I could watch three episodes of ER (12.30pm, 9pm and 2.35am) all in one day. "Or you could join the ER internet chat room."

"Hey, I'm not that sad!" I said indignantly, to which he raised his eyebrows.

"Besides, I've tried logging on while balancing Max on my lap," I said. "But my elbow hits his head every time I move the mouse."

So the box is my only option. Of course, if I were a footie fan I'd be revelling in being forced to be something of a couch potato. As one friend pointed out, Max's birth was well-timed for the World Cup - not that I've paid any attention to what's been happening (are England still in it? Honestly, I have no idea).

Ironically, our daughter Eve was born just before the 1998 World Cup, and I didn't watch any of that either.

In fact, the only way I can be cured from watching telly all day is if the schedules are filled with sport.

Drat! I've just discovered the old ER episode won't be on until next Wednesday because Channel 4 has decided to cover the England v Sri Lanka test match.

What am I going to do? Help! I'm starting to hyperventilate. Somebody call Dr Carter. . . quick.