She's not even seven months and she owns me - scarier still is that she knows it. If she doesn't want to sit in her swing for quiet time, she just howls like a banshee until I rescue and hold her.
The other night, I told my brother that poor peanut must be teething because she was crying so hard.
"Huh. Guess she only teethes at nap time," he mused, one eyebrow cocked. And it's true - there she sat wailing and jamming her frozen chew toy down her throat, crocodile tears streaming dramatically down her mountainous cheeks. I grabbed her, she smiled coyly and the tears dried up on cue.
She totally played me.
She's too lazy to sit up on her own, yet blink an eye and she can barrel-roll across the floor to yank electrical cords or cat tails. Her propensity for going straight for anything naughty astounds me. I figure she'll be sneaking out of the house by age three.
The kid has forty-seven baby toys, lovingly selected to stimulate her tiny brain and provide a wealth of tactile experience, yet all she wants is whatever I have. To teach a Gen Me baby to crawl, you simply place your smartphone just out of reach and then move it before the drool rains down.
Her first word, in keeping with today's standards, will probably be iWant.
Babies are a curious breed. This chunk of love is smart enough to control my puppet strings but dumb enough to lick an outlet. The look of satisfaction that spreads across her face upon getting what she wants is terrifying. Today, to be held during nap time - tomorrow, the world!
No wonder we're raising a generation of spoiled brats - fifty years ago I'm not sure babies and children amazed people so. You simply popped em out and once they were mobile, you sent them to the store with a five-dollar bill pinned to their shirt to buy a gallon of milk and your Pall Malls. An eight-year-old might have been expected to prepare dinner for the family, and a thirteen-year-old would be in charge of diapering and bed-timing her gaggle of younger siblings.
Now every kid gets a trophy and if you ask a tween to put down their iPhone and pick up their socks, they'll probably just use an app to contact CPS and report abuse.
I've decided that my goal as an auntie is to reinforce two truths to her:
1) You are incredibly special to me.
2) You are not at all special to the world in general.
Because as much as I love her and think she's perfect, there's nothing very lovable about kids being coddled to the point of entitlement. These adorable babies and sweet-eyed little girls and devilishly charming young boys will be adults someday - the kind of adults we've all met and wished we could slap.
So tonight, let those crocodile tears flow, baby girl - I'm on to you. You're staying in that swing until we've eaten our dinner and if you don't like it, you can hop out yourself and army-crawl to my phone to report it. Meanwhile, we've got earplugs.