Toover Mcnoover

Poor old roots. This month has been a month of low level snot and phlegmy muck. The result is that she had become rather too regular visitor in our bed retarding our sleep somewhat. However she's the last so deep down I think having her chubby loveliness asleep beside you is never that bad.

Beyond the torrents of nasal muck, Tove has or is a mover. Tentative at first but now with ever greater confidence and alacrity she moves. But how I hear you all cry? A shuffle, a crawl, some ungainly hybrid? 

Praise be she's a shuffler, which resembles a slalom skier descending a mountain side. It's yet to reach any degree of refinement nor is toots convinced about the merit of moving but she has it in her locker if need be. I think moving is beneath her - she is waiting to transcend the normal into a perpetually sublime state. It wouldn't surprise me. There is some strange aspect of her supreme calmness that isn't quite of this world. Last week she managed to shuffle in gap between a bed and the wall and bewedge herself. Most people would have cried or responded. NOt our toots. She just gummed away quite happily. 

I think she might have higher powers. Or something. Enough of this crypto-boshery - enjoy the bean herself.