I was afraid that by letting Simon watch “Jack-Jack Attack” from The Incredibles I was giving him ideas. He always got so excited at the point Jack-Jack bursts into flames. “Baby on fire,” he laughed, “Baby on fire.” I hoped he wouldn’t get any ideas come October, but it turns out he took away a different message entirely.
The other night at Filene’s Basement while Micah looked for clothes, Simon and I watched the traffic out of the windows, one of which had a red drink of some sort spilled all over the sill. “Simon, who spilled that drink?” Micah asked when he was done scouting the place out.
His response: Jack-Jack.
Good one, we thought, good one.
Later that night, as we were both very tired and incapable of making decisions any more, we asked Simon if he’d rather go up the stairs or the elevator at the train station. Elevator, duh. Unfortunately it was broken. Who broke the elevator?
Jack-Jack, of course.
My heart nearly leapt for joy. I’ve been hoping for an imaginary friend to pop up at our house sometime, and this is almost as good. After all, why shouldn’t a baby who bursts into flames, can float through walls, and shoot laser beams from his eyes be blamed for everything?
I love my child.