It's hard being the middle sister. Emma and I have talked about it a lot. I was the middle sister, and with an eight year age gap between my older brother and younger sister, the two of them never had anything worth fighting about. I, on the other hand, fought over the phone with my brother and the best Barbie with my sister. I fought with my brother about dating his friends and with my sister about her taking my favorite pairs of shoes without asking. I fought with the two of them so often, that eventually, when there was a dispute of any kind as to who was telling the truth, no one ever believed me. Because if someone was in trouble and fighting, they were doing it with me. My brother and my sister snowed me a couple of times because they could, and it's made me more mindful as a parent. Emma and I share this middle sister bond, and I try to remember what it was like to be caught in the middle of a big brother who could do everything well and a little sister who never did anything wrong. (There's no sarcasm there. My brother is just one of those people and my sister is sweet as pie, and well… I've always just been me.)

Likewise, things get a little hectic for ole Emma from time to time. She finds herself caught between being the big and the little. I look for opportunities to make her the center of my attention whenever I can.

Emma gets in the car after school and while her younger sister naps or has a snack, Emma talks non-stop about her day. While we sit in the parking lot waiting for the older kids to get out of school, Emma sits in my lap and talks as fast as she can. She tells me about her day and which of her friends got in trouble. She casually mentions she held hands at recess with her favorite boy in her class. For 15 minutes, she is the center of my world and all that matters. I don't blink because the time I have with her like this is so limited. Then the bell rings, she climbs into the backseat and it is suddenly full of little girls and backpacks.

Last week Emma woke up not feeling well. I was concerned about the sound of her cough and decided we needed to run to the doctor for a check-up. While we sat in the waiting room she climbed onto my lap and leaned back against my chest. I leaned forward and smelled her hair, wrapping my arms around her tiny torso. I kissed her little apple cheek and whispered, "Why do I love you so much?"

She looked at me from behind impossibly long lashes and asked me, obviously confused, "Um? Because I'm the only one here?"

(Robin O'Bryant is the author of "Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves." Read her blog at www.robinschicks.com or find her on Facebook as Robinschicks.gmail.com Wiley O'Bryant.ail.com)