She isn't easy. Our house often fills with her cries because I just can't do everything she thinks she needs at the exact moment she thinks she needs it.I have to finish making dinner, I need to help with a project.

Her face is blotchy and red, her little sweet brown eyes are swollen and puffy because she's been crying about this or that. Maybe a noise startled her, we've been dig some construction. Or possibly there was thunder, she really doesn't like loud noises.

And I worry about her. I worry about her long term sanity. I worry that she will have serious anxiety or panic attacks when she's five. I worry, because I am a mom and that is part of what we do best.

I think back fondly to the other girls' toddlerhoods. Rhayn always on the go, and rarely ready to snuggle. She didn't cry very much because she was my entire world. Gwen, always willing to snuggle and nurse (have gup as she called it). She didn't get mad or sad very often as long as nursing was available.

Or maybe I'm remembering our life differently than it really was. Maybe I'm looking back with rose-colored, happy-time glasses. Maybe I'm not remembering things the way they really were.

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