Eight

I bought Eli a little doll a few weeks before Esme was born, hoping it would help with the transition. He didn't take much interest in it until a couple of weeks ago when I took him to see my friend Anna's newborn. He was completely smitten yet shy with tiny Everly. When we got home he went straight for his doll that he soon decided to name Eight. I assume the idea came from his recent church lesson about baptism, but who knows, maybe he's conjugating verbs and it's actually "ate."

I love this long-lasting copying phase. It teaches us both. I realize changes I need to make when I see Eli reinacting my bad habits. On the other side, it warms my hear, literally, when he's super sweet. He treats Eight just the way I do Esme. He's even shown concern that Eight has no hair. (Since all babies must have a full head of hair.) He gives her naps, claps when she sits up or rolls, swings her in the air to make her laugh, feeds her pretend baby food, and even nurses her. Brian was disturbed to witness the latter last night. I see it more matter-of-factly. He's just giving his baby milk the only way he knows how. He isn't aware of gender roles and constraints.

He's also extremely bossy. Part of his immitating also assumes that there is no hierarchy around here and that we are all equal in command. If Eight is sleeping and I talk above a whisper, he quickly commands "Shhhhh, be quatet!" and then tells me to finish my dinner.

Every day he learns how a family interacts, works, and loves based on what he sees. Yikes. I better be on my best behavior.