I want a little brother!

My sister Anna had a baby boy on December 9th. Until little Jude's arrival, my brother's son P.J. was the lone "boy" in an extended family swathed in pink and screaming with giggly girls. The lone prince for six years now, we worried that P.J. might feel threatened by the new tike. But no worries there.... he loves Jude.

So much so, in fact, that he asked his parents for a baby brother of his own. His little sister LuLu is great, he says, but she doesn't play soccer or biddy-ball or do other boy-stuff with him. Feeling a bit under the gun, my brother and his wife explained to P.J.--by way of simple math--the fallacy of getting a baby brother at this point. "Even if we got one now, you'd always be six years older than him. By the time he was four and old enough to play T-ball, you'd be ten and starting little league. By the time he's ten, you'll be a senior in high school focusing on graduation. By the time he graduates, you'll be finished college, married and moved away to New York City. And that's if it's a boy--there's a 50/50 chance we'd get another girl." So they agreed that a baby brother wasn't such a great idea, after all.

P.J. solemnly told me all this when my family gathered on Christmas Eve. "Tante Bella, I don't know what to do," he moaned. "I want a little brother, but I don't want to move to New York City!"

"Oh, sugar," I soothed. "You don't have to. And I think I have a solution for you. Have you ever considered adoption?"

"Like we adopted Max from the dog pound?"

"Right. You can adopt a little boy closer to your age--he doesn't have to be a baby. Maybe a 5-year-old.... that way, you can still be the big brother, but he'd be old enough to play sports and do boy-stuff with you."

P.J. was taking to this notion pretty well, but I could tell he was still just a little skeptical. Knowing his love of Chinese food, I went for the coupe-de-grace. "And if you adopt a little Chinese boy, you could have eggrolls and noodles all the time!"

He ran off to tell my brother, and a minute later, I heard Chance laughing. "Well, that's an idea, P.J. .... go ask your mother."

Another minute passed, and I heard my sister-in-law yell out, "Bella! You're warpin' my kid again!"

What can I say? It's in the job description of a bonne tante.