Oh Nettles, Nettles, Nettles.
You are a special soul, truly: only you – but only you – can be home with me all day while I attempt to get work done, roar at me on constant, and when I try to help, you laugh in my face – and get away with it.
It’s fascinating me to watch your experience as a child born into a loud, existing home. You don’t know life without much taller people walking around (and over) you. You only know a world where anyone, at any time, can walk up to you, throw their arms around your neck, and sing VERY LOUDLY IN YOUR EAR (‘she’s not a toy, Bebe!’).
It really shows on you. You are watching everything. You are getting faster about catching up. We look up and you’re halfway across the room, shoving bits of leftover craft paper in your mouth.
This is a relief – you’re one of us in the food department. My heart couldn’t take it otherwise.
You are getting into everything. I warned your brother and sister but they will not be stolen from without a fight. Which is mostly coming to tell me “Nettles hit me! Nettles pulled my hair! Nettles broke my toy!”
I wasn’t a youngest, Nettles, but I’ve known one very well. Take it from me: keep at it. Keep at it as long as you can.
Except maybe the tiny model sukkah we built. Please don’t eat the tiny model sukkah we built.
And as your first summer has ended, I’d like to add that you’ve been to the beach more in your short lifetime than your siblings were in the first three years of theirs.
Maybe that’s part of what keeps you so chill.