After Anthony was born, I stuck a Band-Aid on my elbow and kept it there for weeks in a bid for sympathy and attention.
I don’t remember this firsthand. I know about it mainly because my parents’ senses of humor and nostalgia are such that they had professional portraits taken of me wearing the Band-Aid. In them, I look small and sad.
Mostly, Alice seems to have adjusted more gracefully than I did to having a tinier and needier person in the house.
Then, a couple of weekends ago, she got a little too much sun and spent the evening vomiting. She was small and sad, and we gave her a ton of special attention – probably more than she’s had in a while. A special tray for her glass of water next to a special sick bed made up on the couch.
I think she sort of liked it. She was well by the next day, but complained from time to time that she was going to throw up. Things she loves and is proud to do all by herself she insisted she could not do all by herself.
It must be tough. I don’t remember, but I can imagine.
This afternoon when I picked Alice up from nursery school, a group of little boys swarmed Soledad’s baby carrier, reaching for her hands and feet.
“She is fragile!” Alice said, shooing them away.
And, as we were walking home, she said, “Them were not very gentle.”