I was filled with joy when my son arrived in this world, joy and stitches. Lucy was pretty excited too. An older sibling’s reaction to the end of their era is varies wildly, but Lucy was generally really excited and sweet to her brother. Tennessee was so cute, she got to “help” dress and diaper him. It was like having a real live baby doll that cooed when she smooched him.
Fast forward three years: Lucy and her friend are presently in her room with the door closed while Tennessee stands in the hall yelling “let me in dere now girlth!” Things have changed a lot since the good old real live baby days. He doesn’t let her dress him, his diapers are decidedly un-cute, and he can mess up a tea party in two seconds flat. He doesn’t care about the No Boys Allowed rule in her club house. He knows the words “stupid” and “head” and he flings them around liberally anytime he is crossed.
I too was plagued by a younger brother. I feel Lucy’s pain, I really do. But I feel like she is going to be better for having someone to mix it up with in her kidhood. Maybe, or maybe she is going to hone her exclusion and emotional blackmail skills to ninja sword sharpness. Either way, if I have to listen to this for three whole months, I may need to get my own place.
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