Daughter Three has a little purse full of coins. She empties it out and starts to count them.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eleven. … Eleven. Twelve. Thirty-two. Forty-one. Forty-six. Thirty-eleven.”
We are in the playroom, both of us drawing pictures. I am drawing a ladybird. What is Daughter Three drawing? Let’s ask her:
“I’m drawing a boat! I’m drawing a house! I’m drawing a pony! What I’m drawing? I know, a ladybird!”
And since I know you’re all fascinated by the rabbit saga, you might be interested to hear that Daughter Three’s rabbit (the one who we thought was male, who turned out to be female, who gave birth to a single deformed dead baby, and who was kept apart from the male until he was neutered) has now started to make a nest. Oh dear. I’m not sure which is worse: a phantom pregnancy, or a biologically illogical actual one.