There is very little that Margot can call her very own.
She's now completely in big sister hand-me-downs. Toys bought just for her are still ridden, used, and abused by her siblings - though not without shrieking protests.
And I'm pretty sure her vocabulary is based solely on what she hears the older two spout off.
"Have an original thought there Margot!" I'll joke, as she rips off her shirt or blows bubbles in her milk, only seconds after her brother does the same exact thing.
But yet she is not a replica of her sister. Or hidden in the shadow of her big brother.
Her own presence is known. And owned.
Not to be confused.
Imitating, but never duplicating.
She's forging her own way. Making her own memories.
And taking up residence in her very own section of my heart.