You, my friend, have been driving me crazy the past few months. Like absolutely bonkers, that kind of crazy. I’ve been using up all my patience on you and then some. Today I think I figured out why.
I think being an older sister is hard for you and I think that because today I took you out. Just you. And it was fine.
It was better than fine. It was great.
You didn’t drive me crazy. It was like the good ol’ days when it was just you and me all the time.
I didn’t have to force you to walk because I was carrying the baby. Instead I could carry you. You could sit on my lap whenever you wanted to. I didn’t have to scold you a million times about not poking your sister or pinching your sister or pulling your sister or punching your sister or doing any number of terrible things to your sister.
You didn’t scream when it was time for us to go home. You talked nicely the whole time and didn’t even whine once.
It was wonderful.
I know you love me and I know you love your sister but there have been days in the past seven months when I’ve doubted that. So it was nice for me to get to see the real you for a while today. You’re a beautiful, kind person. We should get together more often.
It’s not that we never spend any time together. We do. It just happens that most of the one-on-one time we spend together involves me trying to get you to be quiet instead of banging on the door behind which your sister is trying to nap. And then trying to get you to stop screaming when I finally forcefully remove you from said door. And then having to ignore you for a few more minutes while I get your sister settled down again.
It’s like I’m constantly refereeing between you and your sister and you are always on the offense and you don’t understand that you’re hurting yourself—and taking away our one-on-one time—in the process.
I admire how much you’ve grown since Miriam was born, however, how kind you can be to her, and how willing you are to help take care of her.
Sometimes you two get along royally and I am so thankful for those moments. Even though you drive me a little bonkers in between.
One day Miriam will be more interesting, I promise. She’ll understand how to play Jasmine and Aladdin. She won’t eat your crayons. And then maybe things won’t be so frustrating for you.
Until then, please know that I think you’re wonderful and beautiful and talented even if I wring my hands in despair twenty times a day.
Also, I’m really looking forward to your third birthday. Whoever coined the term “terrible twos” wasn’t kidding.