Dear Hagen,
Last night, you took your first bath at home, with an assist from your dad. Like everything else that's been done to you since you were born, you thought this was just fine. I'm starting to think we didn't conceive you so much as order you out of a catalog.
Now that you're home, your sister considers herself the world's foremost Hagen expert. The people who you'd normally suspect of being intrusive or bossy - mothers, mothers -in-law, etc., have been absolutely delightful. It's the two year-old who lives upstairs who's telling me what to do every damn minute of the day. "He's poopy. Need new diaper." Or, "He crying 'cause he's hungry." Or the more piercing, "How's the baby doing?" which she asks me about once an hour to confirm that my answer matches her personal opinion.
Last night, Laney thought your bath experience might be more spa-like if she tossed in her new Mermaid Dora doll, various cups and bowls and some squirty toys.
I've got $10 on your first sentence being, "You're not the boss of me."
Love,
Mom
No comments:
Post a Comment