Toddlerification

She is a baby no more. She probably hasn't been one for quite some time, outside of my addled imagination, but any claim has been obliterated by her mastery, or near mastery, of walking. Last month she was a totterer - stumbling round the house on a mix of two legs, bum and hands, like a drunken farmhand, but has now transitioned to being a fully fledged toddler, still not unlike a drunken farmhand.

The beloved bum shuffle is now forever consigned to history, barring some far distant grandchild carrying that most precious gene, and with it the peace of knowing Tove only had a limited radius of travel. Empowered by those fleshy legs, aided by her non-verbal ways and an unending sense of inner calm she is now capable of roaming far and wide which can be rather unsettling as within a blink of an eye she can be making a bid for freedom.

And while I grumble, it is in fact rather lovely to see her slay around on two feet. Her feet, like those of her sisters, are fat lumps of goodness with arches so fleshy they render all but the most basic of shoes unwearable. It's a miracle she can balance on them at all. But balance she does - and it makes her impossibly, unstabely happy.

On top of all this she is right little peach - as these photographs attest.