Poor Irene

Irene’s having a hard time adjusting to life as a middle child. She loves her baby sister, but would like me to put her down every once in a while so I can hug her with both arms. Aw.

She would also like me to drop everything to help her go to the bathroom. But I shouldn’t watch her while she’s going. In fact, could I just stand out in the hall? Now could I help her with the toilet paper — no not like THAT! And she didn’t say pull up her underpants all the way. And, for crying out loud, she can flush the toilet ALL BY HERSELF. And that water is too hot. She’ll get her own soap, thankyouverymuch, but she can’t reeeeach. NO! The stool doesn’t go like that! Not like that either! How can she possibly cope with all this incompetence? She can’t. So down on the ground kicking and screaming it is.

I really don’t know what her problem is.

Sure, I left her sleeping in the back yard after our walk today. But it was a super mild day and I was right there on the deck. I only popped into the kitchen to top up my coffee and fill up the dishwasher and make a quick phone call and check in with Twitter for a second.

And when I looked out at her as I was getting ready to pick up Colum from the school bus I realized right away that it had started raining. I only stood in the doorway trying to zip my jacket up around Mary for a few minutes after that. What? I had to make sure my precious baby would be properly dressed for the weather. Anyway, that’s totally a rain coat on Irene’s lap.

Of course, once we started out to the bus stop and it really started coming down I was going to cover her up with the not-cheap-to-replace Maclaren rain cover. I had no way of knowing that somehow I’d forgotten that the first rule of Fight Club is keep the fucking rain cover in the stroller basket at all times, woman, you can’t afford to buy another one.  Ahem, yeah, it wasn’t in the basket and she got a tad soggy.

I guess between Colum’s school and hockey schedule and Mary’s round-the-clock needs Irene might possibly sometimes get a bit shorted. So the least I can do is let her freak the hell out when I cut her sandwich the wrong way. I’m going to try to remember that.