Nick looked at the baby Skylar who was dismantling her potty and turning it into a bed for her dolly.
"I think I liked her before she started talking," he told me.
She's not really talking. She's kind of chanting, like one of those kids you see in horror movies clutching the kitchen blade and laughing.
You know, the kid from Pet Sematary.
At a year and half, she's managed to string together a bunch of words like "daddy, buppie and mo'". She says them over and over in no particular order while cackling to herself.
We like to think of our grandchildren as special, but Skylar's just an ordinary toddler.
Nick keeps her chained to her little chair all day, but she's managed to gnaw off her left hand and she's using it as a chew toy for the dogs.
They absolutely love it.
We could market it if we only had a 3D printer.
Kidding, I'm kidding.
But it would make a great made-for-tv movie.
Skylar is a dog magnet, a human popsicle, really, a tasty treat who like all kids lives in a perpetual world of stickiness. Most kids would be hosed down on an hourly basis, but not Skylar.
It might have something to do with the fact that Nick -- not her mother -- is the primary caregiver, a stay-at-home dad whose idea of a clean house is staying one step ahead of a rat infestation.
It's not that bad. Nick has his ways of maintaining a clean house.
Nick hates Finnigan, calls him all sorts of names, but is the first one to offer up his baby for lunch while he's writing poetry or yelling at his roommate as they battle each other on World of Warcraft.
Finnigan, the ever loving lab is only too happy to slurp up all the goo that's in her hair and on her legs. Yesterday, Finn gave her a full face wash.
Eww, I thought.
Finnigan eats poo.
Oh well, dogs have the cleanest mouths, that's what Scott says.
Me, I'm not convinced.
I believe Finnigan could grow a very nice crop of corn in that mouth given the amount of fertilizer he's consumed following Sophie and Gordie around. I swear his tongue is growing all kinds of sprouts.
I don't mind telling you I never let him kiss me anywhere. I don't want to become the principal obsession of all the flies that have landed in the house now that Sophie has learned to NOT come in when I open the door. It's a little game she plays. I open the door, she looks at me, head cocked, like "what?"
I have to pretend to go upstairs at least three times before she comes in.
Meanwhile, I found a green bottle fly in my smoothie the other day.
Note to self.
Pick up extra fly paper.
Skylar adores the dogs. She loves all nature really.
I can see her pursuing a career in scatology or the like.
She might be the next Bindi Irwin and swim with crocs.
There's little difference between crocs and Labs.
They'll both eat pretty much anything.
I just hope she survives babyhood without contracting E coli either from Finn or Nick's housekeeping abilities.
What I like about Skylar is she has no fear of dogs.
Finn can swat her with his tail and knock her off her feet but she still giggles and chants.
Like the nursemaid in the Omen.
Maybe she's giving him instructions.