Chapter Two - Big changes for a little girl.

The Story.
My preschool years are somewhat vague in my memory. In a family of homeschoolers, preschool is just another name for playing and being read to a lot. My mom and older siblings were wonderful teachers and I have no recollection of learning to read; one day, I just knew. When I was just a year old my family moved across the country, to Billings, Montana. I have very few memories of that house, except that I do remember laying on my stomach in my room, coloring in a coloring book. The my room is crucial, because this would be the only time I would have my own room until I reached teenagerhood.

Mom, in her maternity swimauit. :)

Sadly, being only two, I don't remember learning that my mom was pregnant, but there are a few things I remember about her pregnancy. I remember her pink polka-dotted bathing suit over her big tummy bobbing in and out of the water. She would swim with me in my water wings in our gorgeous pool in Billings. We had this little rhym-y song thing that went, "Ba Doomp, ba doomp, ba doomp, ba doomp, brrrrrr (with the roll of the tongue) ding! You bobbed on "ba-doomp", spun around on "Brrrrrr", and stuck you toe out of the water on "ding!".  I used to love to do that with her, and remember asking her to do it over and over.

I remember she would call me over to feel her tummy to feel the baby kicking her and I would run over, but by the time I got there the baby would stop (typical of the little person that was inside). My mom would laugh and say,  "She's teasing you, Em!" I would get all ticked off and think, "that rotten baby".

My mom's 45th birthday sticks out in my mind because when she was pregnant she got gestational diebetes. I remember feeling so horrible that she couldn't have cake and ice cream like normal birthday girls. She made strawberry shortcake with artificial sweetener, and no matter how many times she said, "I like it just as much as I like birthday cake, its so yummy!" I did not believe her.

Looking quite solemn at the hospital.

The day that mom was to have either Abigail or Nicholas is somewhat clearer in my mind than other days of this time period. I remember my grandparents flying up from Ohio. They stayed with me at home while the other kids got to go to the hospital. I remember throwing a few fits and feeling so left out (a foretelling of my personality!) that I couldn't go to the hospital with them. I remember people telling me that as soon as the baby was born, we would rush to the hospital with everybody else. I remember missing my mom. I remember thinking, "I wish this baby would hurry up" (another foretelling). I probably asked, "Is it born yet?" every ten minutes as I waited. Come on, what do you expect from a three-year old?

The moment we got into the hospital, and I got to see my mom and the baby, I felt a lot better. It was an emotional day for me. Being the baby (by so many years!) and having 24hour a day attention was definitely what I was used to, and I'm pretty sure that the moment I walked into that hospital room I knew something had changed. I remember marveling at the teeny-tiny bow glued to my baby sister's head, but I also remember being angry that they had all left me out all day, and that they decided to get this baby to replace me. I think though, in my heart of hearts, that I left all those bad feelings toward my sister in the hospital room that day. Although we fought a minimum of  seven times a week, I never remember feeling jealous or resentful towards my baby sister after that day.

Holding my baby sister.

My mom let me hold Abby the day she was born, and after that moment I became "mini-mom" (like Abby didn't have enough "mini-moms" already) begging to hold her, feed her, change her, and anything my mom would let me do. At the age of four I successfully changed a wet diaper. I sort of got in trouble, because I wasn't supposed to change her diapers and I knew it, but my mom pretty much just laughed and shook her head. The hilarious thing about all of this is that Abby hated being babied. I was a "baby-er" if there ever was one, and she would just live her life crawling away from my motherly grasp.

Holding Abby with Mom, Gretchen, and Gram.

For Mom.

Although there probably was a little bit of jealousy when it came to attention that my mom gave Abby over me, I can honestly say that I don't remember that. I remember being so very excited about a baby sister. When Mom would come in to put us to bed, she would hold Abby and rock her in the rocking chair. I remember a couple of times she would rock both of us, but most of the time I would just sit beside the rocking chair, and let Abby's fuzzy head snuffle my nose as my mom rocked back and forth.

Asking for lipstick.

My mom must have been so patient with me, because during this time in my life, I was quite the drama queen. Not long after we moved to Illinois, when I was still three, I remember running down the driveway. I fell (as many three year olds do) and skinned my knee. As I stood up, I proclaimed, "I am NEVER running again!"(honestly, that has held true more than I would like to admit). My mom was thrown into a fit of laughter, and she told that story I don't know how many times, to get across her point that I was just the tiniest bit dramatic.

Hugs from Mama.

Another thing I remember as if it were yesterday is when my mom told me she signed me up for Kindergarten (or possibly first-grade??) Book-it. She said if I read so many books then I got free pizza. I was outraged, I could barely read and she expected me to enter a contest for it? I exploded into a bout of sobbing. I remember a couple weeks later when I had easily met the book requirement. She reenacted my doubt and my tears, I can still hear my mom doing that fakey sobbing that always initially outraged me, and then somehow made me erupt into laughter.
One day I was feeling exceptionally outraged and hurt that I had no one to play with (looking back I feel so sorry for my poor teenage sisters who I used to beg to play with me day in and day out and obliged me more often than not). So I went to my mom who was reading the newspaper, and I "waited patiently" until she looked up from her reading (a very common occurrence). I asked (no, more like begged) her, to play with me. She said, "Why don't you play with Abby?" The audacity of such a suggestion! "Mom," I said as though I were talking to a younger child, "Abby is a baby. She can't play." My mom thought for a moment and probably gave me a little speech about how someday we would be the best of friends, to which I probably more or less rolled my eyes, as we often do when our parents give us really valid advice. Finally she said, "Ok." She set the timer for 1/2 hour and we played Barbies. Honestly, my mom wasn't all that bad at Barbies! That is set apart so vividly in my mind, I could NOT believe that I actually won her over! Away from reading material no less! My mom and I always had a great relationship, she kept me in reality.

Personal Feelings

I often wonder what life would have been like had I been the baby of the family. Doubtless, I would have had a lot more attention. Then, I turn and I thank God that I am not the baby. I cannot imagine how lonely those days would have been for me without Abby. Thinking of all the life we have shared, and thinking if I never would have had that, how my life would have been so empty. I would have been a spoiled brat, and I know that because I know me. I do not have the personality or the character to handle the role of the "youngest". I already struggle with pride, dependency, emotional attachment, arrogance, and fear; if I never would have had to get over those things, I think they might have consumed me. My mom said that I once said to her, "Mom, why doesn't Abby like people to do things for her? I like people to do everything for me!" and so it was. I had no care for those who served me or catered to my every need; Abby, on the other hand was independent from the moment she took her first breath. It has been proven true throughout our lives, and I'm sure you'll see it too as you read my (our) story.

The World.
My world at this time was changing and changing quickly. Again my dad was relocated, and in Sept. of 1992, just three months after my babiest sister was born, we hopped into a company plane and flew for Champaign, Illinois. All of this newness was very exciting for me. For little kids, it seems all they need to make them brave is to have their moms and dads. I was excited to ride on the "fancy plane" (which seems as if it should be decorated with pink flowers in my opinion, but no one asked me) and to move into a new bigger house. I felt a twang of sadness although I didn't know why. I saw my teenage sisters crying, and my brother looking solemn and I knew that we were leaving something behind.

As far as I can remember I adjusted pretty quickly to our house in Illinois. Living in a teeny tiny farm town does not seem to effect a preschooler all that much. I remember getting up and coming to the top of the steps, and yelling "MOM!" over and over until she broke herself away from the homeschooling teenagers. Then I would ask if I could watch the Little Mermaid. She always made me go make my bed, get dressed, and eat breakfast first. What a drag! I cannot believe she made me work so hard before letting me play! Ok, not really, but I remember giving a little huff as I walked back to my room. It is so vivid in my mind how the living room looked on those mornings all warm with the light of morning, and my mom looking up at me from the bottom of the stairs. Another thing I used to love was watching my siblings doing their schoolwork. Usually my mom made me leave the room, but I was fascinated by the way they all sat there and seemed to have such a good time. I am (and always have been) the person who wants to be in on everything. I never want to be left out. I would beg for schoolwork to do, and my mom would usually just let me go through old magazines and find pictures of stuff that started with various letters of the alphabet. It was enough to make me feel included though, and that is all I really cared about.

Hearts I loved.
Obviously, I still had the closest affection for my family, but there were a few new people who entered my life at this time. First and foremost was my little baby sister. I cannot express to you how much she has meant to me since that day, and I will not try to express that now. She will come into play many more times throughout my story.

Fourth birthday party, with Shea by my side, helping me with the candles.

Another key player in my life story is my oldest friend, Shealin Ferguson.
I met her at our church in 1992. I remember that first day we went there I asked her her name. She said, "Shea". I had never heard a name like that before, so I remember chasing her around and around, our black shiny shoes click-clicking on the floor of the aisles in our auditorium.asking her her name over and over again because I didn't think I heard her right. It became sort of a game, and I remember we played with each other for the rest of the evening. Every time I went to church after that, it was always my mission to find Shea. We were inseparable. I remember being quite jealous that she already had several friends, and I was the new girl. Even at three and four years old these feelings exist. She was always there though, from the moment we met, we just clicked.
Being a small child is such a majestic time. There are no limitations or insecurities. We just are who we are. Its so refreshing to me to see children interacting like that. Just being themselves and enjoying one another.

Fourth birthday party, teaparty party, all dressed up.

 I'm linking up each week to Mommy's Piggy Tales.