Just as your sister is a typical first-born child, with all of her bossiness and in-charge attitude, you are a typical youngest child. You have no problems demanding the attention you feel you deserve. You have mastered the manipulation of cuteness and wisely chosen to learn the word “mommy” before all others. You climb and walk and run and swim because somebody forgot to tell you that you are only 18 months old and have no business acting like a five year old. You have developed a strong sense of fashion and pick your jewelry and outfits with the precision of a runway model. If the clothes selected for the day do not meet your refined eye for fashion (which means they are not pink and include pants) then you simply lay down on the ground and cry until I choose different clothes. You can’t be bothered with wearing shoes unless they are your sister’s dress up princess heels. You talk non-stop and have no patience for the fact that nobody can understand you.
You love Max. He is your anchor, your center, your best friend. His return home from school prompts wild displays of excitement which include jumping up and down, spinning in circles, and screaming for no reason. Once the initial joy has subsided I periodically catch you leaning against him as if you were trying to get as close to him as possible. Fortunately, he loves you too and is equally excited to see you.
You’re my third and I gave birth to you when I was 40 years old. People question that choice. Am I being selfish? Have I not considered your needs? Did I not think about how old I will be when you are getting married? Having kids? Graduating college? The simple answer is yes I did. I never could get past the feeling that somebody was missing from the dinner table and now here you are and I’m glad we waited for you to arrive.