Better Than An Apology

So I've mentioned my friend's daughters here before, particularly her middle child, of the Cold Chef Boyardee Ravioli Incident, and the fact that they often serve as my reminder of precisely why I am childfree.

What I often neglect to mention is that, in spite of that, I love these kids almost as much as I would if they were my own - particularly, of course, the middle child. She's sweet and silly, and she gets frustrated a lot of the time because she's neither the oldest nor the baby, and... well, I can empathize with needing to be something special, and feeling like you're not. She deserves to be someone's favorite, so I decided a couple of years ago that she would be mine.

I stopped by their house yesterday afternoon to pass the time of day and chat with my friend, and all three girls were there playing. As we were gossiping and griping about work, the baby (who is honestly a toddler by now, but will probably be 'the baby' until either her prom or a fourth child comes along) decided to try to climb the porch's support pillars. I started to give her a hand up, fulfilling my important role as Bad Influence, only to plant my hand firmly on a soggy diaper.

After shooing her inside to get changed and washing my hands about half a dozen times, I went back out onto the porch and found Middle Girl. "C'mere," I said. "If I can't pick the baby up, I'll pick you up."

I swung her up into a hug, and she wrapped her arms and legs around me. We danced around the yard and I hummed and sang to her as we watched the sun and the birds and the flowers, and I asked her if she was having a good summer.

She nodded, and I asked her what her favorite part was.

She wrapped her arms tighter around my neck, and I could feel her grin against me. "This is."


.....okay, sometimes I can kind of see why people have kids.