Ebbie

William absolutely loves his new little sister. He smothers her. Sometimes literally.

He steals her pink pacifer right out of her mouth *pop!* and starts sucking on it himself. Then a few seconds later, after walking around (tipping his head back and forth while rocking from one foot to the next) he shoves it back in her mouth.

If she's lying in her blue bouncer on the floor, he bounces her more. If she's in the swing, he swings her higher. If she's being bathed, he splashes around to make sure she's wet. If she's sleeping in her basinette, he peeks inside and says, "Hi, Ebbie!" I think he's just making sure she gets the most out of life.

William always helps change Evie's diapers. If she needs a blanket, William runs and gets it for her. If she's crying in the car, William will help sing to her. When she was born, he instinctively asked to hold her in his arms, on his lap, as he sat in the hospital's rocking chair.

He kisses her on the forehead and rubs his nose on hers. He is a good big brother, and he loves his little sister.

These aren't the locks you are looking for

You know those white, plastic, child-safety doorknob covers that you have to squeeze in on the sides to turn? William found a workaround.

It turns out, he walks right up to one of these pseudo-impediments, sticks his index finger into the big hole in the middle, grips the metal knob between his finger (on the inside of the contraption) and thumb (on the outside of the knob cover formerly known as functional), and turns. Voila!, he's in.

About a week ago on a Saturday morning, Mirjam and I were just waking up when we noticed that William was standing in our room. "Did you let him in?" "No, did you let him?" "William, how did you get in here?"

The darn things hardly even slow him down any more. We keep them on to try to distract him from trying to open the doors, but it's mostly to prove that we tried.