I am the Original

Dear Friends and Family,

Little A is nineteen weeks old today.  I am eight and a half years old, just in case anyone cares.  And I don't poop in the house.  I just want to make sure that's clear.  Between the two of us, one of us poops in the house--in her pants, for crying out loud--and it's not me.  

Everyone else has had a crack at this weekly email except me, so I felt it was high time I put paw to keyboard.  Well, these guys continue to gallivant about town with the little human while I hold down the fort.  This week, Mom and Little A went hiking with her friend Aileen and her kids.  Mom and Little A went up to Long Beach.  Mom, Dad, and Little A went to a holiday party at an IVC counselor's house.  Notice who's missing from the equation here.  "How has life been for you since Little A was born?" you may ask.  Well, thank you for taking some interest.  It has certainly been different around here.  On the one hand, I have company around the clock--something I have dreamed about for years.  And we get lots of out of town visitors.  We also have this new little human who is all ours.  It sort of makes me the special kid on the block.  Phoebe and Kiwi can get their own little person.  This one's mine!  On the other hand, I am no longer the baby of the house.  I am the older sister who gets blamed for everything.  I have to be quiet while Little A is sleeping even though she is rarely quiet while I sleep.  I'm not allowed to lick her face even though it's the perfect height for me when she is sitting.  I'm not even allowed to play with her squeaky toys even though she doesn't know how to play with them herself.  

Many of you were excited to learn a few weeks ago that Little A trained herself to roll over.  I just want to let you know that I have been rolling over for eight years.  Eight years.  Unfortunately, there is no video evidence.  You will just have to take my word for it.  My repertoire includes playing dead, shaking hands, high fives, sitting, and laying down.  For the record, Little A can lay down.  That's it.  

This week is distinguished by the fact that The Interloper is starting to notice me.  You'd think that would be exciting after being ignored no matter how much I invaded her personal space, but I have observed an inverse reaction to her attention: the more it increases, the less I want it.  It all began on Tuesday, when Mom was playing with me in the living room.  It was your standard game of fetch: she would toss the little tennis ball, and as long as it didn't land next to a shoe, the stroller, the trash, anything especially large and plastic, inside my water dish, or under the couch, I would go get it and bring it back.  Little A was sitting on Mom's lap daydreaming about having hair or eating cake or how she would wake us up that night or whatever else goes on in her small head, when she started laughing.  It seemed like she was laughing at me for bringing back the ball.  If anyone can illuminate for me why that is funny, by all means...please do.  I take my work seriously.  Mom threw the ball again, and I went after it again with the focus and tenacity of a border collie.  Brought it back.  Little A laughed.  Repeat.  It was a strange situation for me because I do not appreciate being laughed at, but on the other hand, the more she laughed, the longer Mom was willing to throw the ball.  You can see my dilemma.  I sucked up my pride and ran with it.  

Thank God they took me to the groomer yesterday.  I can only hope that stops the fur-grabbing.  Now I understand what Mom's been dealing with for the past few months.  When that kid gets a fistful of something, she does NOT want to let go!  I assume that this is something she will outgrow, a phase.  Does anyone know how long it takes for the little human to grow up and start pulling her own weight around here, respect my personal space, and communicate in ways other than screaming?  I am prepared for it to take a few more weeks.  (Frankly, she seems a little slow.) 

You know, I realize there has been a fair amount of complaining happening in this email.  Let me assure you that I am, overall, very happy to have another human in this house.  It keeps things cozy.  Mom and Dad seem especially excited, and they remind me every day that one day Little A and I will be great friends and play lots of games together.  So I am actually quite excited and patiently waiting for that day to arrive in the next week or two.  




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