My daughter Brontë is mostly happy about having a baby sister.
I say mostly, because she while she likes to pet her sister’s hair, cuddle her on occasion, and even call her “a good baby” when she’s feeling generous, she also has a few bones to pick with her.
For instance, there’s the intolerable situation of not getting all of mommy’s attention anymore.
Everything used to be awesome, living in a non-stop world of being best friends with mommy. We played all day, cuddled and watched cartoons, and made up incredibly fun games involving making stuffed animals talk and running around the couch.
Then this other kid comes along and screams her fool head off all day. Next thing you know, mommy is taking care of *her* half the time.
Not just that, but this little sister, “Bridget,” thinks she’s entitled to play with toys. All the toys in the house…
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