So in a year or two my offspring may be at each other's respective throat more often than not, but for now, anyway, they like each other. They seem to like each other a lot.
The older Megan gets, the more of a playmate she's becoming for the boy she very clearly idolizes. Tonight provided a good example. Bruce will be home late tonight which left the three of us on our own for dinner, bath and bedtime routines. We ate - and Megan gleefully allowed her brother to sneak her some Yumsters yogurt while I fetched him more milk. For the record, although she will not get more yogurt quite yet, she loved it.
We painted. And Megan watched every move her brother's brush made. Even the move it made to her foot to smear bright orange goo on it. She wiggled her toes and she laughed her deep, body moving, baby laugh. It makes her eyes scrunch up tight and her nose wrinkle - and it makes everyone near her join in. It was impossible to scold him for his body art attempt since I had already smushed purple paint on his nose.
We headed in for a bath. With Mr Logan tightly wound like a top tonight, it became a two for one bath night. Megan stared at Logan as he made faces while I washed the paint from his nose and cheek. She'd laugh and squeal with each twitch he made. She watched him open and close his legs as fast as he could to create waves. When he stopped, she wiggled herself until she got her own legs moving in the same motion. She laughed and giggled with pride, then realized her mentor wasn't paying her any attention - he was engrossed with a toy truck he was driving up the side of the tub. She yelled. She yelled as loud as she could "AHHHHHHHH!!" And he looked. She laughed and kicked again. Giggled and waited.
He responded with more waves. She kicked. He kicked. She yelled and he said "Megan! Don't yell! Be quiet." And she yelled again. So he said it louder. She yelled. He said it louder and then he looked at me with total bewilderment as she screeched and then burst into giggles.
"Why is she doing that?" he asked, perplexed by the increasing volume despite his demand that she grow quieter.
"She listens about as well as you do, I guess," I said, and tousled his hair.
So he leaned in close to her and he whispered, "Megan, sweetie. I love you, but you have to be quiet." (Guess he does listen sometimes.)
And she yelled.
And then she laughed.
But at least he did too.