Thanks to my monthly "Robinson and Laney" photo session, history will remember Laney and Robinson as best buddies. This is the untold story.
Libby thinks she is Robinson's nanny. She sits nearby and watches over him as he plays. She gamely allows him to tug her hair and pat her on the head. If Robinson spits up, Libby is cleaning him up faster than I am. It's gross. If he cries, she gives him kisses to comfort him. When that doesn't work, she finds me, to make sure I'm doing something about it.
Libby is either on the run from the law, or she's embarrassed to be seen with a baby, because she refuses to allow her photo to be taken with Robinson. I'm determined to capture at least one image of Robinson and Libby playing together for his baby book. She's making my job tough.
Libby just told Robinson a funny joke
They were playing until she saw the camera. She quickly moved to distance herself.
Laney cooperates with this monthly photo session for two reasons: 1. She enjoys having her picture taken. 2. She loves attention. She has come to resent her role as photo prop, but she begrudgingly complies.
Laney feels the same way about Robinson that The Office's Michael Scott feels about Toby Flenderson.
A couple days later, I'm sitting in the floor with Robinson and Libby. We're all playing together, and I'm praising Libby and giving her hugs for being so sweet to Robinson. Laney is watching us from across the room, seething. She gets up, walks over to us, sits up straight and tall with her head held high, and then--with as much affection as she can muster--she gently rests one paw on top of Robinson's head. Then she looks at me. It's as if Laney is saying to me (in Janeane Garofalo's emotionless monotone voice):