We expected to deal with some… issues from Eliot after Nola dropped — you know, your garden-variety jealousy, attention-seeking, aggravated fratricide strain of concerns. Mike and his brother are 15 months apart, so he had a little insight into the older-sibling mind, and according to him, this mind is exclusively dedicated to the art of Usurper Eradication.
What we were unprepared for was this:
When we pulled all the infant gear out of cold storage for Nola, little did we know it would be getting double the usual mileage. Baby Einstein exersaucer? Ellie loves it. Jumperoo? Super happy fun time! Co-sleeper? Comfy! Rattles? Formula? Teething rings? MUST HAVE. (The singular item meant exclusively for Nola in which she didn’t express much interest was the tit, and thankchrist because Ellie’s in a phase of pointing at something then shrieking her request and I could NOT take a 2-year-old periodically pointing at me and yelling, “BOOB!”)
But the infant car seat, which she managed to climb into without sustaining obvious brain trauma, marks a new low in that it is SIMPLY RIDICULOUS. Also, according to the copious warnings plastered all over it, Naughty and Godless, which means I have no choice but to encourage it every time.