Allow me to set the scene:
October, 1990. I was as precocious a 3-year-old as there ever was, with my wicked mullet and my fancy pink windpants. Mom, don't even deny it: home videos don't lie! I also talked. A lot. And I talked a lot about baby Jessica, who would quickly become my new baby sister. (whoops.)
I wasn't too sure about this new baby thing. Even at 3, I was already a drama queen, and didn't relish the thought of sharing the stage with someone else. The story goes that my grandma Pinky asked me once what I was going to do with the new baby. I swiftly replied that I would throw it in the garbage. What an angel.
There are other bits and pieces from the early years, but definitely, there is this one memory, standing at the forefront of everything else:
Sitting in a chair in Mom's hospital room, I waited for Nurse Julie to bring him in to see me. I wrapped my squidgy little arms around the bundle, firmly believing that I was "holding" my little brother. (I was not; Nurse Julie held. I simply hugged.) The memory gets hazy here, but I was enraptured. My little face full of wonder, Grandma Pinky asked if I was going to throw him away now.
No, I think I'll keep him was my whispered reply.
20 years later, I'm glad I kept him.
Happy Birthday to the best protector an older sister could ask for.
365 days, kiddo.
1 comment:
Please pass on my Happy Birthday wishes to your bro! Maggie, You ROCK!
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