Two, Like, Totally Freaky Ghost Stories

The other day, Little, Pink and I were in Pink’s room while I changed her diaper doing something fabulous. I heard a noise down the hall. It was familiar, but unexpected since nobody else was home. I turned to Little and said, “Do you hear that?” “Yeah, it’s Pink’s dog book.” Right. Because it’s totally natural for a book—one that requires you to squeeze it to make noise—to bark when nobody’s in the room.

It wasn’t the first time. As long as we’ve had kids, there have been moments like this. A midnight tickle of the ivories on the Leapfrog Musical Table, a Thomas the Train toothbrush that couldn’t be stopped all. night. long., a remote control car revving its engine with no driver. Yes, our house is possessed by a baby ghost.

Oh, but it’s more than the wacky battery- (and even battery-less-)operated goodies that have me convinced I’m on to something. It’s that look each of my babies has had on their face at one time or another. Those moments when one of them is looking off at what appears to be nothing, but their face lights up with a knowing smile. They look, they laugh, they interact. They really and truly see something. Or someone, for that matter.

I’ve actually grown to appreciate our visitor. After all, it’s a playful little friend who loves the forgotten toys and puts smiles on my kids’ faces. But, like most babies, it doesn’t really care what the clock says when it wants to play. Somehow I find this endearing. Hey, If I’m going to be haunted, it might as well be a baby doing the job. After all, it’s a lot less scary waking up to a musical toothbrush than an electric screwdriver.

What scares me more, quite honestly, is the teenaged girl that’s possessed my 3-year-old boy’s pirate/superhero/bad guy-lovin’ body. Well, not his body, so much as his attitude—and his closet.

Here’s what I mean…

In one load of laundry last week (which is about 3 days of clothes—tops), he had 12 short-sleeved shirts, 3 long-sleeved shirts, 3 collared shirts, 7 pairs of shorts, 3 pairs of pants and 1 bathing suit. And the other night, he looked at his laundry basket, looked at me, then said, “This is way too full.” It wasn’t an observation, it was a accusation.

Awesome.

Totally.

So totally cool.

So totally not cool.

Yeah, so what?

Everybody knows that.

Those shoes are so cute, where did you get them?

Pink is wearing the most beautiful dress today.

I hate x. I hate y. I hate everything.

Little has uttered all of these words/phrases at least once—and at times, once an hour—over the past week. I’m thinking of buying some Clearasil to have on hand in case his hormones hear all this nonsense and decide to kick in.

But, no matter what happens with Little, at least I know there will always be one baby that just wants to play around here. And the best part? The ghost can’t talk back.