"You're going to be a big sister!" They exclaimed. At that time, I was 3. At that time, I loved "Barney" and "Happy Meals." The only thing I remember from those nine months was my mom's belly beginning to stick out farther and everyone we ran into wanting to touch it.
I understood that I was going to be a sibling, but at almost 4 years old, it's hard to grasp the concept of having your world turned completely upside down (for the better, I soon found out) in a matter of one hospital visit nine months from the time you are told.
When they said it was a boy, I do remember pouting for an extensive amount of time...approximately nine months, to be exact. Because I wanted a sister. I wanted another girl to play Barbies with me and to have someone's hair to brush.
When he was born, though, even at 3 years old, he was the first guy to steal my heart.
Two years later and the announcement came. With me at the age of 5, just beginning kindergarten, and my 1-year-old brother being able to stay home with mom, dad, or the grandparents, another one was on the way.
Of course, at that age, a little boy wants a brother and a little girl wants a sister. Guess who the odds were in favor of...?
...my brother. He got what he wanted. But at this time, I now had a better grasp on what was happening; I now knew that there would be five in the family, that we would have an extra place setting at the table, and that mommy and daddy were about to get a lot more presents from family and friends that involved the color blue, and cars and trucks.
My family always said that I was going to feel special being the only girl, and as I grow older, I realize that I am special-- not because I never had to share a room with someone, but because I have had the privilege of watching them grow into intelligent, caring men. At almost 16 and 14, I have never been more proud to be a sister than ever before. I watched the oldest one take off on a two-wheel bike at 3, and now I can sit in the passenger seat of his first truck while he totes me around. I have watched the younger one struggle with dyslexia his whole life, yet trying his absolute hardest and still managing to get mostly Bs.
To be loved by siblings is one thing, but for you to feel a certain love for them is another. From learning how to toughen up and fight because of them, to now having to tilt my chin upwards a little because they are beginning to tower over me--it's overwhelming. I began talking about college to the older one the other day, and he began to tell me his plans. The younger one can parallel park better than me at the age of 13.
It's never perfect, no family ever is, but the relationship those two and I share is insurmountable. Brothers look out for everything: from the random people who ride your tail while driving, to the amount of coffee I drink daily (because they think my excessive amounts of coffee has stunted my growth).
They're their own people—they are just now beginning to discover themselves, and they will continue to for a quite a few years to come—but I cannot wait to watch their lives unfold when they meet their first loves, start their careers, or overcome a dark fear.
My not-so-little-men are becoming fine young men that only the most patient of women can obtain. They struggle, but they walk with their heads held high. They sulk, but they don't let it overcome their aspirations. They sometimes just need a hug, and they know that their sissy will always be here with arms wide open, no matter how ludicrous the stunts they pull will be.
