It’s a bummer to be the baby

When we welcomed the Preschooler into our life almost five years ago, we were your typical helicopter parents. We monitored her every move. We used hand sanitizer religiously. If her pacifier hit the floor, we sterilized it. All of her clothes and blankets were carefully laundered with Dreft. I set my alarm to check on her breathing at night, {a measure which turned out to be unnecessary since she never slept more than two hours at a time, but I always set it… “just in case”}. I rode in the backseat of the car with her in case she needed me. We listened to classical lullaby CD’s at nap times and bedtime. We covered her carseat with a blanket when we were in crowds lest someone breathe on her. She had socks and bibs for every occasion, and we never left home without an arsenal of supplies ranging from gas relief drops to diaper rash cream. We were attentive, conscientious parents. And, we were proud of it.

Fast-forward to baby number three.  

Sometimes there are tell-tale signs that you are not the firstborn child in your family. You find yourself in predicaments like the one below, and no one seems to notice:

Not only is the bib covering her face, but you’ll also notice that her little arm is trapped under the Boppy pillow.  And, one can only guess how long she had been in this helpless state.

What has happened to us?

One of my worst fears is that I’ll be driving down the road one day after yet another one of our chaotic departures from the house and realize that I have forgotten to pack the Baby. She’s just so complacent {huge blessing} and quiet {at times} that it could totally happen. Especially when you factor in the number of distractions her sisters are capable of producing.

So, I resolve to start doing a headcount upon leaving.

And, I resolve to recover a little bit of the parent that I was 4.5 years and many sleepless nights ago… for her sake… and for the sake of youngest children everywhere…