Chiquitita

Wispy blonde curls stream behind your head as you run to greet me when I walk in.

You scream my name in a babble of laughter and wrap your 8 inch arms around my legs.

Precious. You are precious.

I scoop you up in a spin that gives rise to both fright and excitement within you, then gather you in a hug.

Te quiero, hermanita. I love you, little sister.

Your head rests on my shoulder and I think, You are perfect. Don't ever change. Never grow up.

SLAP.

Dead on the face.

Why, you little--

Screeching. Blood curdling screams- louder than any child I've ever heard- emit from your mouth in a whirlwind of anger.

Tiny fists- no larger than golf balls- go flying. Some land.

"Grace- stop it now! It's time for be-"

"NOOOOO!" As you throw yourself on the floor in a hysterical tantrum.

 Brat.

"Grace- Para! Stop!" Why must you make my life so difficult, chiquitita?

"I HATE YOU! GO AWAY!"

Funny that Mom named you Grace. You’re anything but.

I carry you upstairs kicking and screaming, the whole time thinking, Why does my sister have to be so damn difficult? Why couldn't I have an easy one?

Finally, I qualm the storm that is you, after yet another struggle of getting you to shut up and lie down. And before long you're asleep, quiet, peaceful.

I give you a kiss and walk towards the door. 

Te quiero, hermanita. But why can't you just grow up already?