When Mazzy was a baby, she had no competition. She was the center of attention, the only occupant of the nursery, the focus of every meal, the owner of all the toys, the sole passenger in the stroller, etc.
With everything in our lives so Mazzy-centric, we spent a lot of energy trying to protect her from everything that could effect her negatively— germs, sharp edges, the evils of television.
Did you know children shouldn’t be exposed to television before the age of two?
That’s what they say.
“They” being people who don’t mind singing The Wheels on the Bus fifty times in a row, I guess.
We would never shout around Mazzy. Not at each other. Not at her. Even if we got frustrated with her (which we did, of course), it’s not like we would ever yell at a baby. It’s a baby! Her poor ears would be compromised! Her sense of self would be deflated! Surely, screaming at a baby would have an adverse effect on her psyche long term. These were the formative years, after all!
If that’s the case, then POOR POOR HARLOW.