Tim (1) and Deborah (3)
When my first baby was eleven months
old, I quit nursing her. Deborah would cry to nurse, but I would let her use a cup
with a top on it. I would almost give in because I had so much milk, but we
finally won the battle and she did real well. She learned to do many
things at an early age and we would brag on her. So one day when our pastor,
Reverend John Kent, came to visit us, she ran to get her potty we had trained
her with. She was going to show him how she could use it. Naturally, we
persuaded her to wait.
At this time Gene was on the
third shift. Each day at 3 pm I would go up the stairs and call his name to come to
eat. So Deborah started going up the stairs and calling “Gene, Gene”. I had to remind her that he was her daddy.
