Dot writes: many are the trials of Hugh’s teddy. He is dragged by one leg through flowerbeds, rubbed against a snotty nose, narrowly escapes sharing the bath, and gets far too involved at meal-times, against the advice of Hugh’s parents. Yesterday the birthday celebrations were too much for him and he had to go in the wash.
This meant Hugh had to sleep a night without him.
I prepared a couple of alternatives: a yellow duck and Thomasina the Transvestite Cat (he’s ginger but wears a dress), one of Grandma’s presents to Frank. Then I put Hugh put in his sleeping bag and took him onto my lap for his bedtime cuddle.
“Teddy!” exclaims Hugh.
“Teddy is wet. Would you like the duck?”
Hugh looks dubiously at the duck. “No guck.”
“Or the cat, perhaps?”
He pushes the cat away. “Dig-dig! Chax!”
So my son slept the night* clutching a Bruder model digger with caterpillar tracks. He’s taken it with him to the childminder’s today as well.
*Actually he had a horrible broken night, which may have been because of Teddy or may have resulted from too many party nibbles. He has a cold too. But let’s not go into that.
