If I understand correctly, it is not uncommon for young children to have imaginary friends with whom they carry on conversations, of whom they invent wild stories, and for whom they insist their parents set the table at meal time.
Oh, if only that were the case in our house.
This week, Tea informed me he’d taken a “quick trip to China to bring home another baby brother. His name is Seth. Like the Seth you knit the hat for, Mama, but a different Seth. This one’s a baby that can’t walk yet.”
Seth has been “left” home while we go to play group because “Punkin can change his diapers. She can hold them in her mouth (cue Tea’s hysterical laughter).” Most unfortunately, such neglect doesn’t fly when we’re home. Tea is obsessed with watching Seth…or making sure I am watching him, with changing Seth’s diaper (or asking me to), with holding Seth when he cries (or ordering me to – and man, this kid apparently cries more than my other 2 combined).
Why can’t the figment of Tea’s imagination be older and more independent? I’d even take an imaginary bad influence, like a second-grader who starts Tea on a path of gum chewing, skipping out of naps, and making fart jokes. The last thing I need is a third baby boy in the house to keep track of. Tea is far too responsible and won’t leave the room without handing me an empty blanket in a laundry basket, saying “I have to go upstairs. Will you watch Seth in case he cries?” If I speak too loudly, it’s “Shhh. Mama! Seth’s SLEEPING!”
I wish I could say he’s as attentive and compassionate about his real-life brother, but Pea is apparently not as interesting as the invisible kid. Help me. Please.