Tiny Teddy doesn't get much of a look-in on these pages. Overshadowed by his all-dancing, all-singing big sister. How can his delightful chubbiness compete for air-time with theatrics like this: today Ivy sat Grover on the potty and said 'Now just 'elax Grover... is that a poo? Oh no, just a fart in it.'
The spotlight might be stolen, but he's my ever-present little buddy - on my hip, at my feet, on the breast. His serene litle face is like my talisman. All day, he gives me little joy injections.
Teddy is busily going about the business of growing up - too fast, if you ask me.
He's a beautiful fatty, still smiling all day long. His favourite thing to do is chew on my face, wrestle with his feet and propel himself backwards at speed. All day long I turn around and find him disappearing under the couch.
Or the television.
He's sleeping through the night, eating all sorts of veges and nearly sitting up. He and Ivy share singlets, nappies and a love of fun.
Stop it, Teddy! Stay little. I'm begging you.