My sister and I look a lot alike. Of course, she’s got darker hair and bluer eyes (which make for a ridiculously beautiful contrast). She’s slighter of build. And three inches taller. But if you see us together, you’re not going to go, “Hmm, I wonder how those two ladies know each other.”
Today, my sister had a meeting to go to. The “big kids” (ages six and eight) were at day camp so I got to babysit my 14-month-old niece, E, all by herself for a few hours.
When I arrived, she was napping, but she started stirring about 20 minutes after my sister left. I went in, and she had smooshed herself up against a corner of the crib, one sock on, one nowhere to be found, her little knees tucked under her belly, butt stuck up in the air. (I nearly died from the cuteness, of course.)
I said, “Hi there!” and she looked up and gave me the wrinkly-nosed smile she gets from her daddy. She still looked a little groggy, so I picked her up, and we went outside to say hi to my dogs.
“Ff ff!” she said.
“That’s right, woof woof,” I said.
My sister had said she’d be hungry, so I put E in her high chair, set a chopped-up piece of string cheese on the tray, and plopped down on the stool in front of her to supervise. She picked up a couple pieces of cheese and chewed them in a contemplative fashion, all the while staring at my face.
After a minute, her little eyebrows lowered, eyes squinted just a bit, in a universal “I’m confused” look. Then a tear welled up in her eye; the corners of her mouth turned into a tiny frown. She brought her elbows to her sides, palms turned toward the heavens.
I mean, it couldn’t have been clearer if she had spoken it in the Queen’s English:
I JUST REALIZED YOU’RE NOT MY MOM. WHERE THE HELL IS MY MOM?
I felt like a con artist.