This isn't about Christmas

As a typical 18-month-old, Nora loves other babies. “Baby! Baby!” She’ll say whenever she sees a baby out someplace. She loves babies so much, she’ll often say “Baby! Baby!” while pointing to what is clearly a child older than she is. If the kid is being carried or is in a stroller, it must be a baby as far as Nora is concerned.

At times, however, she can carry this to the extreme. We have a pamphlet from the Poison Control center on our refrigerator, and Nora can see it when I’m changing her diapers. “Baby! Baby!” she yells, and points to it. “Haddat,” she will add, which I like to translate as “May I have that please?” but which, if we are honest, probably translates more as, “I will have that. Now.”

This is the pamphlet:



I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “Well, there IS a baby on that pamphlet, Maureen.”



Ah. True. But what you do not know is that the magnet holding the pamphlet on the refrigerator was covering up that baby. So this is what Nora could see:



This leads us to the only possible conclusion, which is that Nora thinks that old woman is a baby. OK, yes, she’s not THAT old. Not elderly. Fine. But I think we can all agree that she is not a baby.



In conclusion, I finally gave her the “baby” and she proceeded to clutch the pamphlet to her breast and rock it, while singing “Rock-a-bye baby.” But she stopped as soon as I got the camera, because she’s mean like that.