I was warned by everyone that my beloved two year old would turn into a she devil upon the birth of our second child. The potential was incredible. She might start biting, peeing on the bed, hitting the baby, hitting us, throwing raging tantrums, the list went on...
"She is so excited at the idea of her brother", I would tell anyone who asked. "Oh, but you just wait," was the reply I always got. Or my other favorite, "Yes, but she doesn't really understand." Guess what, she understands. My kid's smart, she gets it. Crying person living in our house, it never phased her.
Oliver moved in, and Zoe's world now revolves around him. Yes, yes, to all you naysayers out there (or to me, since I'm not sure yet if I'm going to tell anyone about this blog), I know it has only been three weeks and things can change. I'm sure they will change. Might she start biting? I don't know. Will she throw huge tantrums? For sure, but I'm more likely to blame that on being a two year old. Will she hit us? Only if she wants to be hit back (kidding!).
She wakes up in the morning and first thing, wants to know where is "my baby, my baby Ahver." Perhaps it was cruel to name her brother Oliver, a name her little mouth can't articulate, but I like the way she says his name. She runs into the bedroom to see him, and wants to kiss him. Sometimes on his keppie, but she is really aiming for his little lips. "Hi baby Ahver, hi baby Ahver." If he makes any sound, she wants to know what is wrong. "It's okay baby Ahver, I'll help you." She laments to me multiple times a day, "He doesn't talk. He's too little." I know she is desperate for him to respond to her, and hopefully when the eye contact and the babbling and smiling start she will feel like she is getting more bang for her buck. The other morning she turned to us in bed, where the four of us (five including Rufus) were hanging out together and said, "It's great to have a baby brother." And that, is all I ever wanted to hear.
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