Let’s give the Brewster-In-Training a break

The DreadBrewer and I are planning a trip. A wonderful, fabulous, child-free trip. Said trip will not happen for many months, as there are logistics and time off and considerable expense and, therefore, saving involved.

But we are so excited already.

After our trip to San Diego, when we split the girls up between sets of grandparents, we had decided (mainly at their request) that my dad and Grandma Kathy could handle both girls together next time we went somewhere. Sue, my MIL, already has her hands full coming over daily or every other day to water the garden and tend the cats and work full time and manage her own things. Dad’s 100% retired and they have no pets and heaven knows, Grandma Kathy is never happier than when she has a small child crawling on her.

So the other day, I’m confirming trip dates with my dad and he says, “Are you splitting the girls up or are we getting both of them?”

And I said, “I thought you wanted both of them. You acted really hurt last time when we split them up and you had just one of the girls.”

To which he replies, “Yeah, but you didn’t give us the fun one!”

And I paused, because it’s true. So many times, we qualify the Littlest Brewster as the fun one. The easy one. The one with whom we want to do things. And poor BIT gets short shrift.

Because she can’t talk yet and tell you what she wants.

Because she’s not potty trained.

Because she still needs bottles.

Because she’s not 100% walking and you can’t just put her down wherever.

But the more that I think about it, the more I realize this is entirely unfair to our Brewster-In-Training.

Yes, she can’t talk yet and tell you exactly what she wants. She also can’t get stroppy with you if you tell her something she doesn’t agree with. She doesn’t ask “Why?” or “What is that man/woman/child/animal/plant/rock doing?” a hundred thousand times an hour. She doesn’t tell you you’re not her best friend or inquire as to the state of your nipples or holler about her bungy (aka heiney) in public. She just babbles and shrieks excitedly whenever she something she thinks is cool, which is about, oh, every 1/100th of a second.

Yes, she’s not potty trained. So you’re not constantly on high-alert to make sure you know where the nearest bathroom is. You’re not always making sure she goes pee pee before you leave, so as to avoid extra (and emergent) stops. BIT’s diaper can be changed anywhere you can park the car and put down the back gate, no worries. There’s something to be said for that.

Bottles? Bottles aren’t hard. Making sure that you have something that not only pleases a toddler’s palate (even one as varied as the Littlest Brewster’s) but also qualifies as a well rounded and healthy choice is hard. Bottles are easy. Pour it out, heat it up a bit, and bam! You’re good to go.

Walking leads to running leads to wandering off on her own when you turn your back. Yes, not walking means that you have to either carry BIT or bring a stroller or put her in a cart but hey, more cuddles for you and more places to store your stuff. And no chance of losing her in a crowded store or having her be squashed flat like a pancake in the parking lot.

I’m not saying that my dad is the only one at fault here. Heaven knows that I have shown my own inclination to take LB places and leave BIT home with her dad because it’s “easier.” And, in all honesty, for the most part it is easier to deal with an older child. But, BIT has a charm all her own and I need to accept – and appreciate – that.

Because one day, neither of them will want to do anything with me and I’ll be SOL.

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