I remember

I remember when it was just this little guy.  He used to play by himself a lot except for when he would stand, hanging on to my legs, crying up into my face.  That's the way it often goes with a firstborn.

Then this little scrap of pink was born.  He had a little buddy!  They were best of friends for the first few months - she would lie on her playmat and he would lie beside her.  Her big brown eyes would be wide and interested as she studied everything he did.  She loved him so much, and he was so gentle with her.

Then she got about this big:

...and I noticed that while they lay together communicating, she would often cry or scream in anger.

I cringe when I remember how often I would call, "Leave her alone!  What are you doing to her?  Why is she crying?"

That is, I used to say that until one day, I watched.  On my honour, that dear old boy wasn't doing anything to her.  If anything, she was only responding to an invasion of her personal space by a big brother coming in to give her a little kiss, or something.

That poor big boy.  He loved her so much, and still does.

To this day, her strong, offended voice is often heard multiple times a day, accusing him of dastardly acts.  To be fair, he has sometimes relied on my faith in his innocence and has used that cover to sock her a good one, but often it's just the voice of the disenfranchised girl learning how to live with brothers.

 I think it's good for her.  (But it means that school holidays can be really difficult for the rest of us.)