Wednesday, November 24, 2004


“You owe me a burp,” I overheard my sister solemnly announce to her son. “Yes you do.”

He doesn’t owe her any spit-up, however, as recently he managed to spew in his own ear. Jim The Baby Nephew is fond of hanging out in a bouncy seat that suspends between the doorjamb of his father’s office. They totally need to make these in adult sizes, and I want one for Christmas. Jim has figured out how to spin while bouncing, which is all fun and games until somebody spews his green beans and centrifugal force whips it back in his face (Science!) Truly, this is my godchild.

We’re easily entertained, the two of us. I was in charge of Jim in the backseat of his parents’ 4-Runner for a half-hour car trip, .00000001 seconds into which he became bored. So we played What’s Not Child-Proof in Aunt Tink’s Purse?, a game featuring, among other items, a package of peanut butter crackers, a tube of mascara dating from the Reagan administration, and a pill bottle brimming with government-controlled antidepressants. (The pill bottle was deemed interesting; the crackers not so much; the mascara rapidly taken away by his father.) I don’t understand why they won’t let me baby-sit on my own.

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