Mom has been camping with a bunch of 12-18 year old girls since Tuesday. With the help of my sister-in-law and mother-in-law, and a midnight formula run by a saintly neighbor, we are surviving and generally enjoying father-son-son time. But we are all sporting clear "I want Mommy!" expressions.
I have been trying to keep up with my job from home as I act as jungle gym to my three-year-old and on-demand-noise-maker to my seven-month-old. As a dad I see the gradual sliding onto my keyboard and the split-second warning "Can I jump on you?" as privileges I should reserve to myself, so when I see Ethan squashing or otherwise crowding his younger brother I usually try to slide in between them. I have come in too late a few times this week. More often than not, the shrieks I expected to replace my resigned sighs came out as a particular belly-laugh that only a big brother could evoke.
Noah knows he has a pretty cool big brother.
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