In my family, when baby G makes an 'o' with his lips, we joke that he's making 'bottle face.' Insert nipple here. We laugh. When my other son M sat in my lap and pursed his lips, I didn't. He's nine.
It has to be hard on him: he's not the baby anymore. No longer the only boy. Where does he fit in?
So far, we've avoided any real rivalry. The way the baby looks adoringly at M, he might as well have jellybeans spilling out of his ears. In turn, he's so good with the baby; he makes a great big brother. But this lap incident leaves open a question.
M needs to know how he fits into his father's life now that he's the middle sibling. I think this weekend I'll set aside some time. Just for us. Perhaps go see that movie, "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs." We must have read the book it's based on a hundred times—starting when M was making bottle face of his own.
I want to show him I will always have room for him in my heart.