|And he was all, "I'm not supposed to poop my pants? Yeah, right."|
This morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise apparently inches away from our window and Oliver woke for his first breakfast, Ethan came wandering in and climbed up beside us. A few hours later, when Oliver was finished with second breakfast, his gas-induced crying woke Ethan, who was sprawled across three-quarters of our queen-sized bed.
"Mommy, stop!" Ethan shouted as I rocked Oliver. "He just wanted to look at me!"
He was right. Oliver had stopped crying.
What happened next was possibly the best moment I've experienced as a parent; certainly as a parent to two. Ethan began talking to Oliver, much like Elliot to E.T., covering everything from not pooping your pants to clipping vs. biting nails to the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk ("Fi, fie, fo, fumP!") and eating healthy food to grow big and strong. He explained how to wiggle your nose when there are "boogies and hairs" itching it, offered to make room on his bed when Ollie gets older so they could share it while Daddy reads them bedtime stories, and officially introduced Big Bunny, Sammy and Baby Bunny (who each declared their love for Oliver) and offered to let him play with them whenever he wanted.
"Mommy, look! He learned from me!" Ethan said, amazed, when Oliver's right shoulder shrugged up toward his ear. "I do that!" Oliver watched Ethan through the whole lecture, enraptured.
At another point, Ollie appeared to nod at the end of one of Ethan's micro lessons. "Look, he learned again!!"
As a reward for all his learning, Ethan wished to Santa—with the earnestness of a prayer—that he bring Oliver "Duklo" blocks for Christmas (since he'd "eat Legos").
"And if you don't bring them, Santa, that's a SERIOUS 1. If I get to 3, that's 15 minutes! And God is the boss of you!"
Threatening Santa on behalf of his little brother? It must be love.