The Supervisor

When I was pregnant with the boy, I worried (and wrote) incessantly about my fears that The Poo would suffer after his birth.

I feared that she would feel displaced, that I wouldn’t have enough time to spend with her, focused on her, the way I did when we were just three. I love her so much, and she will always be the child who made us a family. I love her brother, but The Poo …

First is first.

In the blurry days after Shaggy came, it seemed my premonition had come to pass. It was hard to manage her jealousy, and I lost my cool more than once when she regressed in the normal, expected ways. Then time passed, as it does, and all of a sudden The Poo is a big sister.

A big sister not only in name, but also in deed. She is reliable, generous and protective when it comes to her little brother. She can be trusted to share her toys and watch out for the baby’s welfare when I am momentarily occupied or distracted.

Last week was not our best, and I was so frayed from working and trying to keep up with all my other chores. My arthritis has been terrible, and I have three more days until I can start the more aggressive course of drug therapy. Fed up, I made the outrageous choice of actually shutting the bathroom door when I peed one afternoon.

I sat on the pot, lingering in the relative privacy offered by the partially closed door. Through the crack, I heard the SLAP-shuffle-SLAP-shuffle that is Shaggy’s “wood floor crawl”: he uses one knee and then uses his bare foot to give him traction.

SLAP-shuffle-SLAP-shuffle.

Then, The Poo called out to me.

“MOM!” she yelled. “WE HAVE A SITUATION OUT HERE!”

Laughing, I pulled up my jeans and found her in front of the staircase, holding tight to her brother’s bucking body, a hilariously mature look of grim determination on her sweet face.

“Mama!” she said. “He was GOIN’ FOR THE STAIRS!”

It is so easy to forget that The Poo is just 4 years old. A recent preschool screening put her speech abilities at age 6.11. She is so tall, and so intellectually curious that we often fail to remember that she is still just little. Of course, she has her moments, like when you tell her that no, she may not have a lollipop for dinner, and she bursts into hysterical sobs.

But she is a good girl, my best girl. We are all—Shaggy especially—blessed to have her around to supervise us.