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My daughter is two and a half. She has sixteen thousand stuffed animals, all of which she dutifully totes along with her wherever we go. They are her entourage. Because she is 2 (and a half) all of these animals have very obvious names, like Puppy:

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And monkey:

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Kitty (pronounced Tittie):

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And then there’s Baby:

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Baby (I think quite legitimately) creeps me out.

If you push it’s stomach it laughs this creepy “doll-came-alive-and-slaughtered-your-family-with-an-ax” laugh, like it’s trying not to kill me, and the laughing is just an outlet for all that nervous energy. If it could, and I’m not saying it can’t, (I’m just saying I’ve never seen it) I bet it would rub its little hands together and have some kind of muscular twitch.

Why did she name it Baby?

You can bet your ass it’s one of her entourage, too. Besides Tittie, Baby is her right hand man. Or whatever it is. Thing.
Baby must be present at all naptimes and bedtimes. It must also be present when she wakes up, so don’t even think about removing it to an unknown location while she sleeps.

It must be present for the meeting.

When K wakes up, she does not call for me. Instead, she holds a cabinet meeting in her chambers. Her advisors include the entirety of her entourage. Baby and Tittie have positions of authority, and everyone else contributes whatever is necessary from their specific area of expertise.
I listen to these meetings on the monitor. This is the actual transcript from today’s meeting:

K:  bahutoago in there Tittie?

Tittie: (k puts on a high pitched voice for this) ehhhhnauga Mommy J, K.

K: s’okay Tittie, okay sweetie. Baby?

Baby: lunatic laughter

K: aaehndikonia Baby Tittie? K Puppy? I found nickel quarter inna bucket.

Seal: (for some reason Seal does not speak English) Orc Orc Orc!

K: Puppy Baby inna bed for peesool. Tittie see miss Jenna. No, ehnaferia mehnakona Puppy Monkey Tittie.

Baby: lunatic laughter.

K: Baby come. Ehhhnagadifa Baby Tittie nappy.

Tittie: (in K ‘s high pitched girlie voice) no nappy. No no.

K: you feel better aaaffa nappy.
(So she does listen sometimes)

Baby: lunatic laughter

K: no Baby, no.

That’s my cue. I don’t know what Baby has done to require that admonishment;  I can only guess it has something to do with the knife block or the drawer with the matches and pilot lighter.
The meeting stops as soon as I enter the room. Apparently it was a closed session.
K brings Baby out so it can stare at me while she plays. I swear it can swivel its head around 360 degrees, even though it has no neck.
I suggest Baby wait for K in her bed (safely behind bars) but I am shot down immediately.
“Noooooo, K’s Babyyyy”
Is it worth the fake tears I will have to endure to fight this fight?
Sigh, no. It’s not worth it.

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Always that smile… Always smiling at me… Plotting my death… Figuring out how to get to the matches….
If I disappear, you know who’s responsible.