I Changed Your Diapers

I haven’t heard from my youngest sister in weeks.

Personally, I think she owes me at least one contact a week.

I’m ten years older than her.   I spent many many a nights, days, years of my life devoted to her care.  Okay, well, maybe I wasn’t so much devoted as I was forced.  Tomato/Tomahto.   Still the same thing.  I would think she would feel some kind of devotion to the loving care I showed her.  And whether it was good care or not does not matter.   I loved her, whether I wanted to be watching her or not.  So my term ‘loving care’ is technically correct if not somewhat flawed.

Her crib used to be on the wall by the door.  In the same room as me.  Which means we shared the same air.  That should count for major bonding something or other.  I listened to her little self breathing.   And crying.  And smelled her sometimes baby stink.   Not to mention hand rinsing cloth diapers.   Yes, I had to do that.  Yes, it was gross.   Yes, I would gladly walk to the store with a pocket full of quarters to buy disposable diapers than hand wash the cloth ones.  Environmentalists and future earth dwellers, my apologies.

For the past four days I’ve almost called her.   And I’ve almost texted her.   But I haven’t.  No reason really.   Other than my knee still hurts.  And that’s a very good reason.

But as my world fills up around me with babies I can’t help but think back to the first baby I ever  loved.  The first baby love while fully understanding love.  Yes, at ten, I understood I loved this baby.  I loved the babies before her in an unidentified manner.  They were there, they were cute, they were the same as me.   This one, was different.   She was something I could take care of.  She was something I missed when I wasn’t around her.  She was something.   So I think about her.

And I wonder……

Why the hell hasn’t she texted me and said hello?

And if I don’t hear from her tonight….don’t think I won’t be a bit annoyed about her not reading my blog too.

Not to mention, with my knee hurting and all, couldn’t she have at least made me a casserole and brought it to me.