I remember when my brother was born. After having been an only child for four years, my parents packed up and decided to move to Argentina and I was still trying wrap my head around the big move when my mom brought him home.

I liked being an older sister. I liked looking out for my brother. Just two years later, my parents once again decided to move our family, this time back to the United States, when my mom was pregnant with my second brother. He was born two days before my birthday, which we celebrated in the hospital room with a cake and presents and nurses and doctors singing “Happy Birthday.” But I didn’t mind because I was so excited I had two baby brothers, and I was killing it as a big sister.

Being the oldest, I had a responsibility. I was the example, because the first child of every family always is. I was supposed to teach my brothers how to act, what to say, and how to survive our crazy family. No matter what I did, my brothers were always trudging along behind me, mimicking me. There was no getting away from it; ha, there still is no getting away from it. To this day, I still set the example, and it’s not always a hoot.

In helping raise my brothers, I became the second mom. I was picking them up from school every afternoon. I helped them with their homework. I cooked for them. I made sure they showered and cleaned their room and went to bed on time. And sometimes, I even got them up for school. And it only got worse when my mom had my third brother, the youngest by a lot (twelve years to be exact), and I had to do everything I did for the other two all over again.

I didn’t realize I was doing any of this until I came home during Fall Break Freshman year. I started falling back into my “second mom” mode, but that time was different because my brothers were older. They were fighting back and it took me by surprise. My brothers were old enough to not have to be told what to do, but it had become such a nasty habit for me and it was hard to let go of.

I don’t know if my mom realized what would happen when she asked me to be the responsible one, to be the one who has to set the example. It felt like I didn’t even have a choice. Whatever I did, my brothers copied and I would be the one getting in trouble if they did something wrong. If they said a bad word, all eyes were on me because they must have heard it from me. It was somewhat torturous to have that kind of weight put on my shoulders and feel helpless not being able to take it off. I love my brothers dearly, but being the oldest is not what I thought it was going to be like.

I will admit that it did change me when I was younger. I was always trying to be respectful and polite and have good manners for their sake, and I can’t say I don’t appreciate learning those things at a young age. I just wish the pressure of being the oldest wasn’t so present when I was a little kid. I wish I would have enjoyed just being a sister to them.

Being the oldest has both pros and cons.

The pros are that you’re the first-born, and with that, you’re treated differently. Your parents are learning how to be parents through you. You are the first to be a teenager, the first to go through a hell-like phase of weird haircuts and a bad attitude. Everything happens for the first time with you and it’s incredibly special.

The cons are that you have to be respectful, even if they are throwing a tantrum. You have to be responsible. You have to set example. No, you can’t watch this movie or that show because there are bad words and your little brother or sister can’t hear that. No, you can’t go out with your friends because you need to babysit. And, although you try not to, you end up growing into the role of a second parent. Sometimes it’s more subdued and other times it’s vivid and present in everything you say and do. Sometimes it’s helpful and other times it’s crossing a line.

I like being the oldest because I know my brothers look up to me. They aren’t trying to be exactly like me since we are all very different people, but I know they pay attention when I give them advice about girls or college or getting a job. It matters to them that I care, and it matters to me that they listen.

So, what

does it really feel like being the oldest? It feels overwhelming at times, I’m not going to lie, but it’s also a blessing. After all the hard times, my brothers and I are at an age where we can bond and I’m becoming a sister, not a second mom. And being their older sister, offering advice and guiding them through life as I figure it out and watching over them because it’s my job as the oldest, is all I could ever really ask for.