On December 19, 2010, I received the ultimate early Christmas gift. We welcomed my sister, the youngest of seven kids, into the world. This was especially exciting because I was a freshman in high school. When Mom handed me this tiny human tightly swaddled in hospital blankets, I looked in her eyes and thought she was the most beautiful sight. And that kind of says a lot because if we’re being honest, all newborns more-than-slightly resemble little aliens. If she could talk, she would definitely say “greetings, earthlings” or something like that. I’m kidding…kind of. Sorry, Mom. Anyways, anyone who has held a baby on their womb escape day knows the sense of awe that consumes your heart. This child has not been exposed to any sort of hurt or negativity. This child has a slate as spotless as it’ll ever be. This child can do anything with her life. I wonder what talents she’ll have, who her favorite Disney princess will be, if she’ll choose to attend my high school, if she’ll be a dog or a cat person (fingers crossed for dog), and where her career will take her. I wonder if she’s looking back at me thinking wow, I hope after this brief alien phase I’ll have swimmingly good looks like my sister.
About a month later, she was precious as could be and strangers would stop us in public to comment on how cute she was. I recall shopping in Delia’s at the mall with Mom and the adorable attention-grabber in the stroller. As soon as Mom left to grab a coupon from the car, a loud wail came from the infant carrier. I frantically unbuckled her and held her close to my chest, bending my knees and swaying side-to-side simultaneously, like some kind of atrocious dance move. I desperately searched for her pacifier, a tool that’s crucial for baby soothing. As soon as I plugged her mouth with one of those puppies, I realized everyone in the store was staring at us. This was the first of many times I was mistaken as her birth-giver.
Today, she is the best four-year-old buddy a gal could ask for. Her name is Adelaide, but she often goes by Addie. I prefer calling her my little chicken nugget for reasons I can’t explain. Perhaps because my love for her is comparable to that of chicken nuggets? ‘Merica. She enjoys swinging, playing with her dollhouse, staying up as late as the big kids, all things My Little Pony, and being brutally honest about how your breath smells. She’s a wonderful concert performer, compliment giver, and the most die-hard Frozen fan in the Midwest, maybe even the universe. She likes to give me kisses when I wear lipstick, in hopes of it rubbing off on her little mouth. When I have a bad day, I can always count on her to slide a crayon portrait of me under my door, that should diminish any sort of confidence I have in my appearance, but it’s the thought that counts. I would do anything for that kiddo.
Maybe your little chicken nugget is your brother, your niece, your nephew, your nanny kid, your actual son or daughter. Maybe it is a literal chicken nugget and for that, I do not judge. I’m sure you are familiar with these feelings of importance, love, and admiration that my sister showers me with. Her smile melts stress away and her giggle makes my heart feel light. Addie, I love you with my whole being. Thanks for teaching me how to enjoy the small stuff.
