It rhymes with hoover

She is here. Like any 21st Century non-binary entity she spent nine months on the inside as a boy and then emerged head first into the world a girl. A most lovely girl. Small and soft and of many wrinkles and blotive back passage that sends that benign yellow poo billowing out of her nappy onto her clothes. She might be Nancy, certainly in those first few hours the likeness was undeniable but as she has unfurled and uncrinkled she has become her own being. She has found her inner Tove. 

Which rhymes with Hoover. Best to commit it to paper here lest the danish wing of the family offer any heretical departure from this pronunciation. There was initially some diacritical confusion with her father offering all sorts of inappropriately embellished spellings before settling on Tove. And she is becoming the perfect Tove, the most Tove Tove there can be. 

She latches and sleeps and is partial to a cuddle and is generally wonderful from any aspect. And around her we all finding our own routines and patterns as we adjust to her presence in our lives. Esther and Nancy are committed to Tove and haven't mastered the art of not waking a sleeping baby but are slowly adapting to the limits of what she can do and when it's not best to sit on her head or leap from the sofa when she is on your lap. 

You might have noticed that the internet has slowed in recent days - that is due to the sudden explosion of photos being uploaded of Tove to her own most lovely cloud. But it has been worth it.

Here she is.