My seven-year-old son had begged for a sibling for years, so when his baby sister Brenda was born, I thought his sudden obsession with sleeping under her crib was sweet. Then one night, I heard him whisper something through the baby monitor that made me stop in the hallway.

He picked her clothes. He sang badly whenever she cried. He showed her picture to cashiers, teachers, neighbors, and one confused delivery driver.

At night, he would stand beside the bassinet and whisper goodnight as if Brenda could already understand every word perfectly.

For the first two weeks after we brought her home, I thought Ben was handling the transition better than any seven-year-old possibly could.

Then he stopped sleeping in his bedroom.

I found him under Brenda’s crib one morning with his pillow, blanket, and stuffed dinosaur.

I almost laughed.