I am a baby person. I can adjust to carrying somebody on my hip everywhere I go. I did it for so many years, I feel at loose ends now.
Our youngest is six, and I don't have anyone to carry any more. Not that they wouldn't let me carry them, still, but they're too heavy.
It's usually easier having older kids. No strollers. No diapers. Everyone can walk. Nobody ever drops a pacifier in the mud and then wants to immediately stick it back in their mouth.
But it's also harder in some ways. Amelia and her friend are always wanting to go somewhere--the mall! (No.) Build-a-Bear! (No.) Grandma's house to pick up my piggy bank and THEN Build-a-Bear, because I can use my own money and it won't cost you anything, so there's no reason not to go! (Maybe later.)
Anyway. Lillie and Francie are, in some ways, in one of my least favorite age stages (six and seven). Our two oldest were about this age on the occasion of the infamous Mommy Left Us event. I completely lost it, went out and got in the car and left them home alone. I drove down the street for about three minutes, then turned around and came back. I swear. Three minutes. To this day, if anyone brings this up, both kids report how traumatic it was. I returned after my three minutes of peace to find Alan crying and Tillie, always the little manager, already on the phone with Grandma, reporting my perfidy.
I've mellowed, I guess, or maybe it's just that Lillie and Francie get along better than Alan and Tillie did. (Alan used to show us little half-moon marks on his arms, from Tillie's fingernails.) Most of the time, the girls do play together. Nicely. But they have their moments. Today Fred summed it up when he said, "They can't stay away from each other, and they can't get along." Yup. That would be about it.
