It's hard being the older one

We FaceTime until my brother and sister-in-law can get their crap together enough to pile a potty-trainer (more than a toddler, not yet a preschooler) and a newborn and all of the thousands of pounds of gear they require into two rolly suitcases and a dozen or so tote bags and get here to see us. (Gaw. Come. On.)

We spend time pressed up into the phone camera, pretending the baby is awake and recognizes our voices, that we are holding him into our chests, guarding the infant from being snatched away by an anxious grandma. 

But it isn't easy. First, this new child shares a sleeping affliction with his older brother, one that confounds me as the mother of the son I have in my lap during all these FaceTime sessions. He sleeps. A lot. In fact, I've only seen him with one eye open at a time and he's nearly a month old. 

And also, he doesn't do a lot. I've asked big brother J if the baby is talking yet.

"Nope, not yet," J answered definitively.

"Well, is he at least walking yet?" I asked, feigning all the seriousness a three-year old needs to hear to stop ignoring everything but the top half of plastic pirate ship on the ottoman in front of him.

"Nope," he answered again. "He's still a baby."

"Still a baby," I repeated, lacing my fake seriousness with fake disappointment.

Without a beat more passing, J's head whipped to the right so his face was centimeters away from my brother's. The screen on our side was filled with their profiles.

"WIGHT, DADDY?!" His seriousness was real. I mean, weal.

"Yup," my brother answered, lips pursed to one side. He's a pro at this seriousness act. A real potty-trainer thespian. "Stiiiilll a baby."

J whipped his head back at me, a tiny actor with full Method face.

"Yup," nodding, nodding, nodding, lips pursed. "Still a baby."

A few days later, the lens was aimed right at Jacob, whose preppy polo shirt was hiked up over his barely protruding baby belly while he held a pacificer lazily in his little rosebud lips. 

"He might open his eyes," my brother whispered. E and I oohed and ahhed and waited. 

"Look at his little elf ears!" I said.

"Oh! And his hair! And tummy! And tiny fingers!" E chimed in. Our observations weren't revelatory, just background music while we waited to see Jacob's peepers.

One eye opened. Then shut immediately. We laughed and oohed some more. I was just about to launch into a list of questions I only need to pose because I am too far away from the youngest member of my family and I feel hyper-aware of how important each day is in these early months. 

But I didn't ever get to those questions. As soon as the air escaped from my open mouth, Big J bounded in.

"PUT THE CAMERA ON ME NOW! PUT THE CAMERA ON ME, DADDY!"

He made something up on the spot to say or do or dance out, as three-year olds are adept at doing when the lights finally circle around them after hours or even 30 seconds off-stage.

We laughed. We all got it. I had a baby brother. My brother had to bear with me. E had a one-kid show until Big J showed up a few years ago. Now it is the second-smallest's time to steal the spotlight back. 

There's no love lost for my first nephew, plenty of room for new cousins, another boy, one more J-named babe in this family. There might not be tons of room on the tiny FaceTime screen. But we'll figure that all out soon enough. Which hopefully is some time before the wee one opens both eyes at once.