I Love You Man

Before I left for Paternity leave, work lunch conversation turned to sibling rivalry. It seems as though every person at my table had been almost murdered by their older brother or sister when they were born. There were attempted smotherings. There were attempted drownings. I think one kid pushed his brother out of an airplane.

So I was a wee bit concerned about Elijah’s mental state when Luca came home. Let’s face it. Eli received 110% of our attention for 2 ½ years. We don’t do board games. We don’t watch “Mad Men.” We don’t paint. Our hobby was adoring our first born. I had visions of Eli constructing a crude guillotine in our basement.

I’ve said it before, Eli is doing great at being knocked down to #2 on Billboard’s Top 100. But he still craves attention. Over the last week he’s been experimenting with different modes of acquiring our eyeballs.

Crying. Everything from faux injuries to not having his towel properly draped over his shoulders is an excuse for the water works. At minimum, he gets a hug and a kiss. But he’s a terrible actor, so when he’s really chewing the scenery we’ll let him complete his performance on his own.

Screaming Tantrum. He rarely uses this technique. Eli only breaks out the “Li’l Bastard” kit when he’s used all his other options. The only real bummer is he tends to use this technique when we’re at Target and I haven’t had my coffee. So then I break out my “World’s Worst Dad” kit and start yelling. I think this year’s Christmas Card is a photo of my and Eli playing tug of war with a plastic bunny rabbit.

I Love You Man. Now this, this is the best. It goes as follows. I’ll be cooking or trying to climb on top of the massive pile of garbage inhabiting our living room when Eli will say, “Hey Daddy. Hey Daddy. Hey Daddy.”

I’ll respond as all dads in the world do, “Yo! Talk to me, Goose.”

“I love you.”

At which point the heavens open, the choir starts in and they drag that big harp into our house. I immediately hit “Toys R Us” on speed dial and say, “Send me over one of everything.”

And the funny thing is, I fall for it every time. You’d think after the 100th “Hey Daddy. Hey Daddy” I’d know what was coming next. But I’m always knocked out when he says it.

p.s. Those things on his ears are from Diana’s breast pump. Don’t tell him.

p.s.s. A quick Luca thing. He poops like clockwork when you feed him. You know you are just about done with the bottle when you hear the telltale “pop.” He poops with such ferocity that he surprises himself and his arms flail. Pop!