You Know Those Monkeys at the Zoo?

Ruby was a pretty mellow baby and toddler. She didn't throw huge tantrums, she didn't flush my jewelry down the toilet, she didn't smear peanut butter all over the walls; she was remarkably kind to me. Before Ruby was diagnosed with the big D and I was oh-so-naive, May was born. She instantly had health issues and was more temperamental. I remember thinking "Oh, this kid is going to do me in." She got RSV, had asthma, eczema, acid reflux, torticollis and needed physical therapy. Then Ruby turned 3 and just days later was diagnosed. I thought "Oh, so this is why she's been so nice to me. She was saving it all up." The tables had turned and Ruby had become my "problem child." Now a year and a half later, she's on the pump and we've got it all figured out. May has been 2 years old for almost 3 months now. I regret to report that my original thoughts about May being a bigger hand full may have been confirmed as of this morning. I wake up to her screaming. Ruby, who truly delights in being the bearer of bad news, runs into May's room, and runs back out into the hallway hollering "May's naked and everything's covered in poop!" I will go no further with the story, nor will I post any pictures. Your welcome.