Jillie Bean

I don’t have a daughter. I’ve got two sons, so I’m comfortable grabbing up the boy twin and playing airplane and carrying him facing forward on my hip and letting him squirm down out of my arms. And then there’s the girl twin…

I’ve said on more than one occasion while shopping at Target, “Someone needs to pick me up and carry me out of here before I buy everything on the racks.” She’s fun to shop for. I get lots of pink.

Jillie in the swimsuit I bought her

She’s also the one who has some of my characteristics. She’s got my dad’s blue eyes that are turning green like mine. She’s dramatic. She’s embarrassed easily and a little shy. She doesn’t like to get in trouble; she wants to do everything right and pleasing. She’s verbal, loves music and rhyme and words.

“Shake it,” I say, and she dances. “Where’s your belly?” She pats it. “Where’s your foot?” She looks down at it. “Where’s your ear?” She points to it. “Hi,” I say. “Hi,” she says.

I sing. “The eency weency spider climbs up the water spout…” She puts her fingers together like a spider climbing. She tries to twist them and make them walk up. I stand and sing and act out, “I’m a little teapot, round and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout. Tip me over and pour me out.” She watches intently. It’s catchy. She likes anything catchy.

When I say good-bye to her, I tell her to be a good girl and when I come back, we’ll do more of the teapot song. I tell her to keep on practicing the eency weency spider song. She’s sitting on my lap facing me and she puts her fingers together like the spider getting ready to climb and looks at me all proud.

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