Sensing that this could escalate, Gloria interrupted us by taking us back to the original conversation. “Maybe it’s because they’re my sons that I don’t see the fully how alike they look. But then again, I don’t think I look anything like Rita and my twin, Anna, and we’re meant to be identical.”
That made sense, I guess, but it was still hugely inaccurate. Jarrod and his brothers looked more alike than I’d ever seen any siblings look and given the age differences it was testament to the strength of, it seemed, Gloria’s DNA. It stood to reason that a mother would see her kids as each being unique as well as not seeing the visible similarities between her and her siblings, but as an outsider, trust me, it was blowing my mind that they weren’t all from the same fertilized egg.
“I agree with the ladies,” Rita said. “Those boys look like they were all in utero at the same time, and that some paranormal event occurred where one tiny egg the size of a pinhead split into four massive babies.” Getting a glare from her sister, she then decided wisely to start talking about Port Royal, telling us about different places in Jamaica that we should visit. The more touristy parts had no allure to me in any country, I preferred to go off the beaten track, but when she told me there was a place called Fern Gully, I made a mental note to break the beaten path rule and go visit it. That movie had seen me through a lot as a kid, and who wouldn’t want to go to the place it was named after?
As we were talking, Elodie made the red pooping face that she always did, and then started clapping her hands. This was something she’d done from the minute she could do it after she’d been constipated for three days as a baby, and when she’d finally broken the poop force field, we’d all clapped for her. Now, every poop was celebrated with a red face and a round of applause – even if you had company.
Picking her up, Maude took her upstairs to change her.
“I really need to start potty training her,” I muttered, making a mental note to get a book on how to do it. I wasn’t sure if there was a book that dealt with a psychological approach to potty training, but I was adamant to find the closest thing I could to it.
“Jarrod, Bond, Canon and Reid were all using their potty by the time they were sixteen months old,” Gloria told me, like this was information I needed to know about these grown men. “It was Canon who took sixteen months, though. The rest all figured it out pretty quickly and were using it by thirteen months.”
The fact that it was my boyfriend and his brothers aside, this was actually kind of intriguing information. I also needed the answer to something. “Who was the fastest to learn it?”
Not even hesitating, Gloria said, “Jarrod. He got a green potty the day after his first birthday, pooped in it that same day, and a week later was ripping off his diaper to sit on it.”
Holy shit!
“He could do that when he was just a year old?” I asked, double checking she had the age right.
“Of course. Jarrod started walking at ten months and was advanced for his age, too.”
“Boy basically uncurled after he was born and started playing music,” Rita snickered. “I swear he was born at thirty-nine weeks, but he came out a twenty-year-old man.”
That I could see, but still…
“Do you think Elodie’s delayed with her development?” I asked both women. “Her mom is an addict, but she stuck with marijuana while she was pregnant. Elodie was tiny and a bit premature and it’s always worried me all of that would affect her.”
Leaning forward, Gloria said seriously, “Every baby is different, Katy. I get so annoyed with those baby books because they don’t take that into account and it makes new parents worry.”
That was true. I had three of the books upstairs so that I could figure out how to look after her when she was born. When she hadn’t hit the milestones by the stage that they’d stated in the books, I’d freaked and taken her to the pediatrician to get checked over. Fortunately, she was confirmed to be ‘healthy as a clam’, but it was hard to switch off the worries given Effie’s history.
“Your niece is good, honey,” Rita added, backing up what her sister had said. “My daughter didn’t start walking until she was nineteen months and she refused to use a potty until she was almost three. Then, at the age of nine, she decided that she was old enough to wear a bra and took one of mine and stuffed it with apples. After that, it was makeup at ten that she applied with a heavy, heavy hand, and she was borrowing my wigs. She’d gone from taking her time to being impatient for time to move more quickly. I was never worried, though, because she’s her own person and kids personalities and will power differ from child to child.”