Let's talk about sisters for a moment, shall we?
I struck the sister lottery with three of the most warm, caring, talented, supportive sisters whom I consider my best friends. Granted, things weren't always rosy: As the youngest, I had many bedroom doors slammed in my face, persona non grata in their world which I considered much so cooler than my own. Their closets were packed with clothes I wanted to wear, their shelves stacked with tapes (yes, tapes) I wanted to listen to, or toys I wanted to play with, or, later, goopy lipglosses and shimmery eyeshadows and neon-hued nail polish I couldn't keep my hands off of. I snuck in those rooms as much as I could. And I almost always got caught. And they hated me for it. At least for that day or that very hour, and then we'd make up or at least be forced to play nice for the sake of my frazzled parents who put out more fires than FDNY.
But we grew up. We grew closer. By the time I reached college, I lost my annoying little sister tendencies (or at least I'd like to think I did), and we became friends, even living together all in one West Village brownstone while I interned in NYC for the summer. Since then, we've been though the high highs and the low lows, the stuff that makes you grow even closer. I've developed the kind of relationships with each of them where we may not see each other for months but then fall back into step with ease as though no time has passed.
Now, having two girls of my own, I want that same kind of bond for them. I know it can't be forced. Just two years older, Nora didn't coo and coddle Nell as a newborn; she tolerated her. She quickly developed a habit of squeezing her a little too tight, or playing a little too rough, and Nell eventually wanted nothing to do with her. In the past few weeks, though, I've noticed a budding friendship between the two. Like tonight before bed, Nora insisted on turning off the lights in Nell's room to have a "dark dance party." The light from my phone illuminated their PJ-clad figures as they spun, dizzily, to Let it Go (what else?). Nell, bouncing unsteadily on her tiny feet, spreading her arms out wide, Elsa style, as she belted out her own version (which, by the day, is sounding more and more like the actual words), Nora, turning ever-so-slowly ("Like a real ballerina, Mommy!"). They laughed and sang and twirled. Two sisters. Two friends.
I know there will be slamming doors, and pinching, and scratching, and biting words in our future (but hopefully no biting!). Yet for now, for perhaps just for a brief, blissful period, my girls have found each other.