Jemma is a baby. Her name is "baby Natalie." She sticks her tongue halfway out of her mouth and makes baby noises. She cries a lot.
Annie is the mom. Her name is "Emma." She spends most of her time transferring things from one purse to another, going to concerts, going to birthday parties, and going to Africa. She will be home before bedtime, though.
I am the babysitter. My name is "Miss Kelly." I am to feed baby Natalie lunch, give her a nap, and play with her when she wakes up. I should be careful with her on the swing.
This game has been happening, off and on, for a few weeks now, but it was very big this weekend, while we were at "the cottage." Amidst jumping huge waves, swinging on the monkey bars, having a great dinner with my parents at the new Su Casa, eating ice cream, and showing the house (three times, but NO, surely nobody is going to actually want to BUY IT . . .), the girls played these roles so much that, even today, Jemma keeps correcting me when I address her. Especially if I am directing her or disciplining her, she cops out. "I am not Jemma. I am baby Natalie." She scowls, then sticks her tongue out a little bit.
The funny thing about this is, Natalie was actually one of the girl names I originally liked when we got pregnant with Annie, but Jason would never consider it because of lingering associations with the sort-of-obnoxious-and-not-super-attractive character on the 80's sitcom The Facts of Life. Looks like we got ourselves a baby Natalie, after all.
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