At one of Natalie's last doctor appointments, she was measured.
"She's very little," said the doctor. "She's in the 93rd percentile. That means if you put her in a row of 100 kids born on her birthday, 93 of them would be bigger than her."
Of course I knew what that meant. I didn't know she was quite that little, especially since she has such a big personality and she's so physical with her big brother.
She beats him up. Kind of - we don't allow the kids to hurt each other, but we do allow wrestling. Natalie wins. She will stand behind him on the bed and tackle him, driving his face down into the covers. He laughs and sits back up. She repositions and piles him back into the bed. On repeat.
One time I was in the bathroom next to my bedroom when they started to wrestle on my bed.
"Be careful," I said. "No kids getting hurt."
"Okayy," they said in unison. Then I heard a giggle out of Natalie.
"Yeah, you gettin' hurt!" she said, and tackled Sam again.
