You Can't Handle the Truth!

Baby Sosie is sick.

She has been fussy and snotty-nosed in the way that sick babies are. This morning she woke up about three hours earlier than normal because she just couldn't breathe, and she was all pathetic and snorty. So I had to break out the saline drops and the bulb sucker. It helped immensely, and Sosie went back into a peaceful, easy-breathing sleep. (And so did I. Score!)

Tonight? She again needed some bulb sucker assistance. So I took her back to our room and laid her on our bed. Babies are wiggly and roll-ey, so I had to hold her head still with my knees.

Scarlett, who stalks my every move, appeared in the room and noticed her sister's predicament. It is one Scarlett has suffered herself, many times over. Except now she's a big girl, and I don't have to hold her head with my knees.

"Baby sister!" Scarlett cried. "Just tell Mommy the truth!"

Wait... what?

I am gasping with laughter. Like I am an enforcer now? Saline and a bulb sucker are my instruments of parental torture? Like I am Sayid from LOST? Where does she get this stuff???

"What is baby sister supposed to tell me?" I am asking. "The truth about what?"

"Umm.... guess!"

"I can't guess," I say. "I don't know."

"Guess!"

"Baby sister can't tell me," I try again. "She can't talk. I need you to tell me."

"Um, I don't know!"

Damn. The sister secrets are already too strong.