Part of her wanted to be angry and ungrateful. But another part of her was ashamed of her childish behavior

AT four a.m. on a drizzly, dark morning, while the rest of the British population slept, Suri Levy, age 18 months, stood up in her crib and wailed.

Esti, 13 1/2 years old, groaned and wriggled further under the covers.

“Be quiet, Suri!”

“Ma… ma… ma.”

“Mmm,” said Esti. She ought to change Suri’s diaper now before she woke the whole house, but her bed was so warm and delicious… and she was sooo tired.

A loud thump announced that Suri had fallen out of her crib. There was a pause. Esti opened one eye. She really must get up. If only her limbs would obey her. Mmm… the eye closed.

A short pause. Suri began to scream, bloodcurdling cries that brought her mother hurrying into the room, still half asleep. She lifted Suri off the floor.

“Sh… sh…” she said soothingly.

Suri strained toward the door. “Out… out…” she demanded.

“No, Suri. Mommy change Suri’s diaper then Suri goes back into her crib like a good girl.”

“Gagledegaga,” said Suri.

Mrs. Levy sighed. “Not now, Suri.”

With her face turned to the wall, Esti pretended to be asleep. She listened as her mother fussed over Suri, tucking her into the crib and then tiptoeing out to the hallway. It seemed that Suri was settling down. She snuffled and snorted, sucked noisily at her thumb, then turned over several times. There was a moment of calm… but after three nights sharing her bedroom with her baby sister, Esti knew exactly what to expect: the systematic evacuation of all Suri’s worldly possessions from her crib. Sure enough, books, teddy bears, empty bottles, and plastic toys came sailing over the bars. A cardboard book with a rather sharp corner landed on the back of Esti’s head.