Day 58. 111,460 words.
On this day, four years ago, my last chance at an even male-female distribution in my little nuclear family was foiled by the arrival of Freja Regina Clare “Toop” Hindle, putting me at a distinct 1-3 disadvantage in the gender war. She was, after Wump, a shocking change of pace with her “eating” and her “sleeping” and her “lying quietly” and her “more sleeping”. We worried that maybe she was too sleepy … but we didn’t worry so much that we actually mentioned it to a doctor or anything. The doctor might have done something to wake her up.
 It’s short for 2.0. For those who weren’t in the know about this.
 You know, assuming there’s two genders, as currently seems to be the case in my house at least. Pending further developments. If more genders do manifest themselves, chances are they’re not going to give me a break anyway.
In fact, little Toop was so very, very laid-back and cheerful that Wump and Toop were dubbed “the smart one and the happy one” by some of our friends. It seemed suitable.
Of course, that was never going to last forever. As she grew older, Toop realised there was more to the world than sleeping – a fallacy all children inevitably buy into before realising, too late, that they’re wrong, there is nothing more to the world than sleeping – and began to run and shout and laugh and do stupid, stupid dances. Still this will come as a surprise to many of our family and friends who still think she’s sweet and chill and pleasant. Oh, she’s pleasant, most of the time … but she saves the banshee for when nobody else is around. Particularly her big sister, whose awe-inspiring shadow leaves little room for anything but worshipful imitation.
Happy birthday, Toop. You’re a complete dork but we think you’re awesome.