A baby in the house

Back in the day, before technology took over, we carried eggs around. I believe it had the dual purpose of proving that you were fit to be a parent yet attempting to convince you that you were not ready to be a parent.

Problem was, I already knew I could be a parent. I babysat all the time. As in, never did anything else. Except read. Babysit and read. But not at the same time because that would be bad parenting.

It also didn't have the desired effect on me because instead of treating that egg like a child under my care in the absence of said child's parents, I kept that egg wrapped in tissues in a box in a very safe section of my purse.

Yes, the rule follower who knew she wanted to be a parent some day and spent all of her time babysitting, stuck that little ole egg in the depths of her purse like the man with one talent buried it in the ground for safekeeping.

Why, you might ask? Because I was most certainly not going to write a research paper on child abuse. Which would have been the reward for a squashed egg. That and yolk all over the inside of my purse.

But such tactics are impossible in the computer age because as we all know, kids these days get an actual baby. Or, close enough.

He's smiling now, but he hasn't had a night with that kid yet. I suggested that his brother, who shares a room with the temporary Papa, might want to find separate lodging for the time being. He insists he'll sleep through it. Maybe. He could be like his father. Or maybe not. Joke's on him...or me. Time will tell.

Poor Victor is waiting with fear and trepidation for this thing to cry for the first time. But since the good father has been holding her most of the evening, not a peep.

Oh, and the father even passed gas and blamed it on the doll. Victor bought it hook, line, and sinker. Good grief. Apparently this is not a Dad-trait that needs to be learned.

Good thing he's enjoying this little experiment so much. Who would have guessed? Just don't enjoy it too much. The real ones sometimes smell almost as bad as your gas.

Edited this morning to add:

The roommate's comment, upon awakening and being asked if he heard the baby, was, "Yeah. I don't know how many times she got up. It all ran together." Looks like he doesn't sleep as soundly as he thought. Lessons learned all around.

Spoken like a true parent, don't you think? Yes, my dear sons, it does all run together. Keep that in mind.

Although, I would say that a baby waking 6 or 7 times in one night is a bit obsessive.

Just don't tell my sons that. At least not until they actually are ready for that responsibility.