Eldest Child Syndrome

November 16, 2011

in Blame The Sudafed, Mommy-ville Detour

The Big Man and I are eldest children.  The first borns of our families.  The ones who, had we been born a couple hundred years ago, would have inherited it all.  So long as our siblings didn’t band together and assassinate us first.

Which is why I am eternally grateful to have been born in the 20th century.

Well, that and the internet.

So I feel that I can safely say that I understand that look in the Little Man’s eyes when he happens to meet an older child.  Someone who, while still his size (because he is the son of a GIANT), is just a few years older, wiser, and more mature.  Someone who can teach him all the cool things his little heart longs to learn.  Like how to climb up the slippery metal bars of the jungle gym to reach the Really big slide.  Or how to use his crayons to color on something other than paper.  Or even just how to open his bedroom door.

He’s not asking for much.  Just an older sibling.  Or two.  Someone in whose shadow he can hide when Momma realizes just, what, exactly he’s been up to so quietly in that corner over there.

And if there were a way to give him an older sibling?  I totally would.  So long as I don’t have to birth it, feed it, or wipe up its poo.  Which pretty much rules out adoption.  Human, Canine, or Otherwise.  And leaves me slightly distressed.

Or at least it did.

Until the other day, when the Big Man walked in to find me playing “Too Slow” with the Little Man.  You know the game, “Give me Five…Up High..Down Low…TOO SLOW!”  At which point, he simply said: “Oh.  That reminds me.  You probably shouldn’t be making fun of the Little Miss in front of the Little Man any more.”

Which is when I realized that the one I should be worried about?  Isn’t the Little Man.

{ 1 comment }

Liz November 17, 2011 at 12:22 pm

B and I are both oldest children too! We always laugh that poor Caroline will not have anyone to relate to or commiserate about being the youngest with!

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