Her Birthday IS Ay Mayteenth

Yesterday she pushed a toy away from her baby sister.  I told her she shouldn’t do that.   She immediately dashed out of the room and without seeing where she went I knew she was under the kitchen table.


All the sadness of the world leaking out of her little baby eyes.

All of the wailing that her little self could express.

I wait a few minutes and follow her in.   Crawling on my hands and knees.   She’s asking for her other grandma, not me.   I ask her if I should leave.  She says no!!   I ask her why she’s crying.    She is sobbing.   Tears.   Snot.  Baby heart just breaking.   Because I told her she shouldn’t push the toy away.

But she couldn’t admit that.   Even though I asked her, why are you crying.

She could not say what she knew was a wrong thing to do.   She just could not make her self say it.

Instead, after me asking again she says:

“It’s not my birthday!”   And just sobs even more.

Three year old logic is pretty powerful.   There’s nothing fancy about it.   She knew she couldn’t be sad about being not nice to her sister.   Instead she had to have a valid reason for crying.  And by golly she nailed it.   She thought she had me.   Thought this was a very good reason indeed for being all broken hearted.   Apparently thinking it would divert Mamo’s fair play radar from baby sister back to where it belonged, on her, where she only had to cry “Mammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmo”  and the world would be all about her again.

But Mamo was ready.   Though I have to admit I didn’t see that coming.   I covered pretty well.   I told her “we wouldn’t want to have a birthday every day.   We would get way too old way too fast.   Once a year is plenty so we’ll wait for Ay Mayteenth for your birthday.”   She agreed and came out from under the table.

I made my way back to the recliner where she climbed up in my lap and promptly fell asleep.

Baby crisis diverted.