I often find myself shushing Otto, or asking him to back up a step or drop his intensity level from 10 to 8 -- all so he doesn't startle or upset his sister.
I don't know why I bother. She doesn't care. She adores him.
We've had kind of a busy little weekend. Bel and I went to our 2nd massage class yesterday morning. It's been nice to have some dedicated one-on-one time with her, and nice to review the whole massage routine. It's been a long time since my class with Otto. I was terribly sad when I found out that our first massage therapist, Audrey Simon, died of cancer between Otto's class and my pregnancy with Annabel. She was wonderful, willing to share all sorts of helpful baby-related info gleaned from years of working with infants and raising her own kids. I find myself thinking of her in odd moments, and if I ever do give baby advice (which I am sure I do more than I should), it's often something I learned from Audrey. She had definite opinions about how babies should be cared for, but was never critical of moms who did things differently. I always felt lucky to be taken as one of her clients, since it felt more like a teacher/student relationship than anything else.
We decided we'd head to church this morning. While at the breakfast table, Otto listened to us discussing the day ahead and piped up to say "I want to go to chee-zus before we go to the store."
Jon and I stared at him. "Chee-zus?" I asked carefully. "Do you mean... Jesus?"
"No!" he said. "Chee - Zus. You know, he lives a long long time, and he lives at the church and not at our house." Jon and I traded looks. "Well, yeah, we thought we'd go to church first," I said, deciding not to argue about Jesus vs. Cheezus. "Do you want to start going to Sunday School?"
"Nah," Otto said, and went on eating his breakfast.
"I guess he's more Wisconsin synod," said Jon.