My oldest’s middle

My oldest’s middle

I remember what your hand feels like now.

Undimpled, unsticky, it fits squarely inside the palm of my hand, and you hold on tight.

It’s been too long, and we both relish in the opportunity to be close again, without interruption or competition. It’s been 2 years since your sister was born, and today, it’s only you and I.

And now suddenly I can remember there’s more to you in the run of a day than a series of extreme highs and lows. You’re not only screaming and then crying- there’s so much in the middle that gets missed now. But you still have a middle- and your middle, your ordinary, is so extraordinary.

You love to help. You’re complimentary. You told me I looked beautiful, as we tried on glasses for fun.

You have a good eye for a pair of jeans. You are honest. You encouraged me to try again, when I convinced myself I might not pee my pants getting back up on top of the monkey bars.

You are silly, and it’s not just for attention- because my eyes were on you, through breakfast, lunch and dinner.

You make me laugh.

These past two years have been hard on us. Despite my best efforts, I don’t have the time I used to, and with you being in school these past years it seems our evenings are far too short together. Your sister has a way of putting herself first- forcing herself into the forefront.

But not you, you’re not the competitive type, and I do so love that about you, though I’m sorry you come second.

Your second place finish is not my conscious choice.

And luckily for me, I’ve still got you. But just to be sure, I’m eating a jelly doughnut with my left hand, allowing your hand to fit squarely in my right, on this day when I remember every part of you, my sweet old girl.



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