The Importance of Being Me

There I sat, behind closed doors, trying to take care of some personal needs, while my youngest child stood outside, banging on the door and sobbing hysterically. I ignored her. There are times when you need your privacy. Besides, if she was trying to get the door open I knew she wasn't getting into trouble somewhere else.

Over the last couple of months she has taken to shadowing me around the house, following me from room to room like a miniature stalker. She is particularly adept at recognizing when I am headed in the direction of the bathroom. In desperation I've had to resort to waiting until her head is turned before taking off like an Olympic runner pursued by a pride of lions. Today I'd barely made it in ahead of her, closing the door even as her little hands touched the wood, palms flat as she pushed with all of her weight.

Unfortunately, the wailing attracted Arielle's attention. She left the television show she was watching in the living room and came to see what all the ruckus was about. Immediately discerning the problem, she decided to be the helpful big sister.

Gabrielle burst in as soon as the door was opened, running up to where I sat. "Mommy! Mommy!" Her grin was wide enough for three little girls. She patted herself on the chest with both hands. "Me!"

Yes indeed, little girl. You.