Birth Order

I’m an only child. I think I’ve mentioned that before. It was always lonely as such, hence my need to procreate more than once.

My only experience in witnessing the dynamic of true siblingness (yes, I just made that word up) is watching Mooter and Booger.

Booger is going through a phase of I-used-to-be-the-cute-one-now-all-you-do-is-take-pictures-of-her. Mooter was first. The spotlight was on her for four-and-a-half years before that little troll of a sister came along. Of course, when we enter this crash course of despair and future therapy sessions in wait, I have to pull out my big box o’ pics where I’m almost buried in the avalanche of Mooter-related photos. Then I pull out the portable hard-drive and show Mooter the gigs and gigs of memory devoted to her mug. Is she convinced? Sometimes. But we’re working to curb years of yapping on a shrink’s couch here, so sometimes drastic measures are necessary. To restore peace and order to Siblingville, I take one pic of Mooter for every two snaps I dedicate to Booger. It’s a fair trade-off for two girls where, even at this young of an age, rationale never outweighs hormones.

Lately, Booger has been tricking me. She’s torn between wanting me in her face with a camera…

…and being so totally over me, that my lameness blows her mind.

I’m assuming this is what being the youngest, and a toddler, is all about.

The push and pull between asserting independence and needing a blankie. But I’ve found that the most important thing in her world is being the baby. And being the baby doesn’t help your older sister’s incessant thoughts of pushing you over a bridge when you are the Al Capone of babies.

Or was one just born a jerk while the other one wasn’t?


Because here’s a good example of a toddler, and (at the time) an only child. Do you see any jerk tendencies?

Oh, well. There goes my birth order theory.

Parenting siblings is hard on clueless only children.