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April 26, 2003
When my daughter was an infant, I could always count on one thing when I came home from work: to be spit up on. It didn’t matter how long ago she’d eaten, she always saved it for me. She NEVER spit up on anyone else holding her. Just me. Apparently she’s been speaking to her younger brother and teaching him a few tricks. Zachary now spits up on me everyday (again, no one else gets this lovely gift). I love the genetics of emotion – how infant love for one’s poppy (and how it is shown) can be seen across siblings.