Torture

So I was helping remove a small splinter from P's wrist today (per his request) when he giggled "Mama, you're Toooorturing me!"

Where did that word enter his vocabulary?! Then it hit me. Baby Brother.

The child couldn't have picked a more apt name for his recent side kick. He explains the world to Baby Brother, constantly corrects him, takes him Everywhere (except bed and bath), and, well, tortures him. They play nicely together (well, BB is nice), as long as I'll do BB's voice. If not, P forgets his angelic side and yells "Make Baby Bwover talk. MAMA! Make. Him. Talk!!!" Its February in Brooklyn and we need some winter diversions. P's really been missing his little tractor, so he made a racetrack on the carpet and sweetly took BB for a ride. I was a little aglow in the brotherly comaraderie until he shut BB in the bathroom door. Like a prison guard enjoying his job, he demanded "This hurts? Ahhh, This Reeary Hurts?" Yah. That's more like what I remember from brothers and my childhood :)