“Where me go? There me!”

Sadly, I’m here to tell you it’s true what they say about second-born children and the lack of photographs of them. At least when compared to those of the firstborn. At least in our house.

Well, let me clarify. We have photos aplenty of our middle child, just no evidence of her on the walls of our home.

And, we love hanging shit on our walls. I just did a rough count, and discovered we have about fifty frames up in our small, small house. More than half contain photographs of family and friends. About sixteen hold photos of our eldest child. Just two are of our second girl. Well, two-and-a-half, if you count the one of our oldest kissing my very round and pregnant belly, inside of which the middle girl was living at the time.

Frances has lately been noticing and admiring all the photos on the walls, especially those hanging in the living room above the couch. And, she likes to report to us who she sees in every one.

“There Nor-nor and Daddy. Nor-nor and Grandma. Nor-nor and Grandpa. There Mommy and Daddy. There Mommy friends!”

This morning, when we woke up in what was once Nora’s bedroom, then supposed to be Nora and Frances’s shared room, but has now become Mommy and Frances and Rowan’s bedroom, Frances looked at a couple more wall photos. 

“There Nor-nor and Daddy. There Nor-nor and Tella.”

Then she paused, rightfully puzzled, and wondered aloud, “Where me go?” 

It broke my heart really. Until she glanced at a photo made on canvas, of her older sister around the same age as she is now, sitting on an ocean dock, gazing out at the sea near Liam’s dad’s house in Connecticut. 

“There me!” she exclaimed proudly and excitedly. 

I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that the little girl in the photo, who looks just like Frances, was indeed not her, but her older sister. 

Instead I beamed and said, “Yep. There’s you!”

We need to get some photos of this kid on the wall, stat. We can’t have her thinking she is a less important or valued member of the family. Especially with an important birthday celebration coming up. 

I’ll just make a mental note to do that this weekend, on top of baskets full of laundry, vacuuming, dusting, picking up toys, organizing art supplies, holding/swaddling/nursing/burping/diapering the baby, showering myself before noon. Seems like there is a petty good chance it will get done. 

Not.

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