I know I shouldn’t let myself go there, but I can’t help it. I do it every time.

My sister and her family were in town from Denver for the Thanksgivukkah Palooza last week — and we had a blast. My sister and I were never close, growing up, and we didn’t have cousins we were close to. Today I consider her one of my two best friends (don’t hate me, but my mother’s the other one) and we both love to watch our girls play together.

Annabelle and her cousin Kate have a particularly close bond, although they are two years apart in age. Kate and Sophie are just weeks apart. I don’t even remember calling Jenny to let her know that Sophie had just been diagnosed with Down syndrome, but more than a decade later I still hold in my head the crystal-clear image of her walking through the hospital room door, infant carrier in hand. (I don’t believe I would have been that kind — hospitals freak me out, and no way would I bring an infant into one without a really good medical reason. But Jenny’s that kind of person. Plus she works in a hospital so they don’t bother her as much.)

In any case, I went there again this weekend, watching Kate and Annabelle — swimming at the pool, dancing at a family member’s wedding reception, ice skating on a tiny rink in downtown Phoenix, cracking each other up in the back seat of my car.

Is this what it would be like if Annabelle had a typical sister? I wondered.

Probably not, I told myself — had to tell myself, for the sake of sanity. Jenny and I were at each other’s throats our entire lives, til the first pregnancy tests came back positive and we finally had something in common. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Annabelle and Kate would never get along so well if they lived in the same house or the same city.

And it’s not like Annabelle and Sophie have such a lousy relationship. They don’t. Along with Annabelle’s expressions of empathy and sister-ly annoyances on the part of each, there are moments of pure joy that I can’t deny. They, too, crack each other up in the car. Giggle in the pool. Tell one another secrets.

But I’m grateful for the bond between Annabelle and Kate, and I have a feeling it will only grow more important as time goes on.

On the last day of the visit, I found this drawing on my mother’s kitchen table and grabbed it because I loved Annabelle’s technique, then took it home because of the subject matter. In it, Sophie’s not excluded from the party (she also adores Kate, and the two do play together) but she’s definitely been put in her place, a not-so-subtle reminder.

At first, the drawing stung, but then I thought, Oh Amy, get over yourself. The truth? Sophie is smaller than dark-haired Kate and the fair Annabelle — the bigger girls’ long, wavy hair the same length as we walk to dinner, their steps evenly matched, as Sophie runs to keep up, eventually joining them. For now, anyway.

I hung the drawing on the refrigerator. For now, anyway.