“Where’s my baby?” C pops up in her crib after a long nap.
“She’s playing in the living room.” I tell her as I lift her out and place her on the changing table.
“I can go play with her?”
“Sure thing.” I tell her as I put her down. She races from the room and I follow, grinning at the sounds of their delighted squeals. They’ve been apart for all of two hours, but you’d never know it to hear them.
Little L giggles as C makes silly faces, and C laughs out loud to hear her sister’s joy. I walk into the room unnoticed. They only have eyes for each other.
The ritual reunion goofy dance completed C settles herself on the baby gym to play with her sister. She presents toy after toy, hardly letting Little L hold one or stick it in her mouth before ripping it out of her hands to present another. The excitement mounts until C can no longer contain herself. I know that it’s almost time for me to intervene.
Any minute now C’s passion for her sister will push her excitement to the point where she can no longer control her movements. She’ll start to grab at her and squeeze her as hard as she can. She might even bite.
Truth is, I can never be that mad at her, even as I rock the crying baby back to smiles. I understand exactly how C feels. I know how it feels when love or joy bubbles so hard in your chest that you can barely catch your breath and you have to squeeze something hard, as hard as you possibly can before you explode. It took me years to learn to control that urge, and M would tell you that I’m not always successful. So how could I possibly punish C for feeling passionate about her baby sister? After all sometimes I have to stop myself from squeezing Little L just a little too hard myself. She’s that delectable.