Baby take a bath

J got a really fun dolly on her birthday date with Daddy back in December. Its giggle when it is grabbed around the waist has led to many a late night startle.

The blinking eyes have malfunctioned so now only one works, increasing the creepy factor as it cries or laughs.

The neighbor friends even found you can make it have a sort of seizure if you put the magic bottle in just the right spot on its head.

Of course, J loves baby all the same. She carries it around and tells her, "You are too heavy!" like a certain pregnant mother has been known to say. The other day she decided baby needed a bath. I didn't want to see the results of immersing the deteriorating electrical system so I busted out the infant bath from the closet of little brother's room.

I figured I would teach her the art of a baby sponge bath with a wet baby washcloth, something she could do in the comfort of the family room while I attempted to finish dinner. She seemed enamored with the process and I mentally patted myself on the back for giving her an activity that 1) helped prep her for siblinghood and 2) kept her out of my hair and entertained.

I go back to the kitchen and continue for five minutes when I hear the water in the bathtub running.

At least she understood the baby was supposed to stay in the infant tub, even though she relocated it. Her hands are shiny because apparently baby needed  baby soap, soap that required some climbing and successful navigation around glass apothecary jars.

So much for my brilliance, hers is outshining me.