The Bayy-beee

Dear Laney,

Since you were the first child to arrive at the family reunion, I think you thought the highlight of the trip was going to be sitting in Grandpa Ron’s driveway, sorting rocks and listening to your mom complain, “Why do I even BOTHER putting you in cute dresses when all you want to do is drag your butt through the dirt?”

Then, your whole world changed! Dad’s cousin Amanda arrived with her 6 month old, Kya… or, as you now call her in a hushed sigh of wonder, “The Baybeeeee.”

Once you met that baby, she became all you could talk about.

Sometimes in life, parents threaten their kids with warnings like, “If you’re not good, Santa Claus won’t come.” All weekend, I was able to use a similar tactic with you that went something like this: “Hey, Laney – only if you eat your breakfast / let me brush your hair / put on these pants / find your shoes, can we go see The Baby.” This trick worked 100% of the time.

On Saturday morning, I heard you wake up in your crib and start talking to yourself about The Baby. For the entire 6-mile drive from our bed and breakfast to Grandpa Ron’s, you sang this song to yourself: “Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby…” Your dad and I started bobbing our heads in unison, cause the tune was just so dang catchy. Justin Bieber's career = explained.

You showed the baby how to work the doodads on her bouncer, assuring her, “S’cool, baby! S’cool!”

You put your shoes on her feet. You tried to feed her a meaty, cheesy crepe. You let her poke you in the face.

I’m starting to feel much better about your future role as Big Sister. Granny Jack, on the other hand, has been confident from the beginning. When I told her we were having another baby, she said, “You won’t even have to raise this next one. You can just give Laney a copy of the itinerary, and she’ll take care of it.”

And here I thought she was joking.

Love,

Mom