This is one of my favorite pictures of Mo and Co. It was taken the day we brought Co home from the hospital. Mo is still a young 3 years old and not quite sure what my going away in the middle of the night and coming home with a wrinkled, mewling loaf of bread means for her rotation around the Earth’s gravitational pull, but she’s adjusted.
Over the past 18 months, I’ve chased after her and Co with the camera, trying to capture their sisterly interactions, especially the ones that don’t involve pushing, shoving, eye poking, and whacking with assorted plush dolls — and that’s just Co. Everyone has told me that as they get older, they’ll become the best of friends and they’ll have such a good time together. Well, when Co is stealing crayons from Mo or Mo is commandeering Co’s baby doll and stroller and they’re basically acting like extras from John Dollar, I’m like, “Yeah, right.” I’m a baby sister; I’ve got an older brother — this is a new and improbable concept for me.
So, I’m thinking about this as I take the stairs two at a time back to Mo’s room. And here’s what I saw. . .
They loved each other very much, indeed. . .
