When I was 7, my mom told me I was going to have a younger brother or sister. I was so excited. Most of my friends had siblings and I couldn't wait to have someone to play with. I imagined having a little sister and playing dolls with her and sharing all of my clothes. My mom kept telling me it was possible the baby could be a boy, but I didn't listen. I thought if I tried hard enough, I could will the baby to be a girl.
A few months later we went to the doctor's as a family and found out my mom was having a boy. I'm not going to lie, I was a little disappointed, but the more I thought about it, the more excited I got just to have a little sibling.
On Dec. 31, 2003, my little brother was born. I had stayed at a friend's house while my parents were at the hospital, and the next day I went to see him for the first time. I was beyond excited to finally have a sibling, even though I wouldn't be able to play with him until he was a little older.
As my family got adjusted to having a baby around, I realized just what it meant to be the older sibling. For the first eight years of my life I was the center of my parents attention and now their main focus was on this little baby. I didn't mind because I knew my parents didn't have a choice, and they were good about still finding time to spend with me, but it was still an adjustment.
I watched my brother grow as the years went by, helped my parents teach him how to walk and talk, showed him things that were important to me, and also tried to make new memories with him.
Once he learned how to talk, it didn't take long for him to figure out how to annoy me. He learned from a very young age exactly what to do to make me angry, and for a while we didn't get along very well. But as he got older, he began to realize that it was better for both of us if we didn't fight.
Once we stopped fighting so much, it was easier to do things together. When I got my license I started taking him to movies, just the two of us, and soon that became our brother-sister bonding time.
I eventually realized that I had become more of his third parent than his sister. Because there is such a big age gap between the two of us he saw me more as another adult than his sister who told him what he had to do. Of course, he didn't always listen to me (and still doesn't) but my parents helped me enforce the idea that he had to listen to me too.
For the past eleven years I've learned to not only be more responsible for myself, but also how to be responsible for other people. Being an older sibling has taught me patience, understanding, and compassion.
Most of the time, the younger sibling is considered the luckiest: your parents are more relaxed and experienced the second time around, you get more of the attention, and you're more likely to get what you want. But I consider myself very lucky to have grown up being the oldest. Watching my brother grow and develop through the years was a truly fascinating experience.
One of my favorite parts of being an older sister is being able to pass on words of wisdom to my brother. Although some things are different because he's a boy, I have been able to share my experiences with him about friendships, school, and dealing with our parents. I truly love when he comes to me asking for advice. Just knowing that he values my input and trusts me enough to confide in me makes me believe I must have done something right as his big sister.
So, for all of the oldest children out there, there might be days when you want to kill your younger siblings, but what you have to understand that you are their idol, their mentor, and probably their favorite person in the world. Cherish it, because not everyone is as lucky as we are.
