Esther has gone native. She has now spent a quarter of her life in France and so smells of cheese, likes a glass of Ricard with her breakfast and has egalité, liberté and fraternité scorched onto her soul. She is the most excellent sanglier one could ever wish for.
Not content with looking like a delicious, wide eyed pudding she has developed the ability to laugh a laugh that would soften even the most zealous of tory arseburgers. She has also mastered her own head, holding it a loft with the nodding regularity that brings to mind a most Churchillian dog and is on the road to sitting. With a herculean crunch of her tummy muscles she can haul her body upward and sit proudly before over balancing and collapsing into a pill of soft fleshy goodness. However, like Nancy humanity is dripping into Esther with increasing speed. Her array of noises has expanded too, inspired no doubt by the glorious dawn chorus of French birds, and she is the most chatty of beasts particularly when her doting sister chats to her and helpfully interprets her noises ("Mummy, Esther says she is hungry").
Oh and while she remains a prodigious consumer of breast milk her heads has been turned by fine patisserie to unctous potential of solid food. When ever food is close by her eyes lock onto it and her hands grasp in vain to draw it into her mouth. Nothing can distract from this mission until the food in question disappears. However, we might have another beast on our hands.
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