It took almost seven months, but it finally happened. Miss M was all up in Mr. Baby's grill (as usual), being loud and aggressively "lovey" (as usual), and he was just sitting there placidly in his high chair (as usual), trying to digest a single grain of brown rice. Miss M translated "stop yelling at your brother" to mean "try making another really loud noise near your brother," and so she began singing.
"I'M GONNA GET YOU, YOU BETTER RUN, I'M GONNA GET YOU, HERE I ..."
No, that wasn't the sound of Miss M's head exploding from its own vibrations. It was Mr. Baby, wielding his ducky spoon and taking perfect aim at Miss M's cheekbone. Yes, the little man finally fought back. And he knew it, too. As Miss M sat screaming and crying tears of befuddlement, he just looked at her, raised his barely visible eyebrows and grinned his biggest gummy grin. And as the responsible, peace-loving parents, we waited until Miss M stomped off to her room to give him a high-five.