Last week one of my sons had to write about a memory associated with a room in his house. He said I could post it here.
I am a boy from a large family. I have one mom, one dad, three brothers, and one sister. This story is about my sister.
My mom, having been pregnant for nine months, and having put up with all the hardships thereof, was well and truly ready to have this baby. She had been through nausea, cravings, and a nesting instinct that made her clean the individual slats of our bathroom blinds with a toothbrush, and it was all drawing to a close. The night before, I had gone to bed in hopes that there might be a new sister in the morning. As soon as I woke up, I rushed to my parents’ room, only to see a new face looking up at me. I was filled with a mix of feelings that I cannot even begin to describe. I looked around the room, my eyes passing over the wood furnishings, and the one large bed that was the dominating feature of the room. On the bed were my mom, and all of my family. My mom looked incredibly tired, yet happier than I have seen her since. In a week it will be my sister’s first birthday, and on that day I will remember all day, this first day of knowing her. The rest of the day was blur of playing with the new sister, sending her first photos to relatives, and just being in an overall euphoric cloud that could only be replicated by the production of another sibling.
Over the past year, my baby sister has grown and changed so much. She has my mom’s hair, and I am told she looks similar to me as a baby. She has gotten in a lot of trouble, and has learned so much. She has even started to develop her own tastes and opinions, and she looks like she will grow up to be a wonderful girl, and a wonderful woman. As we approach the end of her first year, and the dawn of her second, I cannot help but contemplate that wonderful day of December 23rd 2008, and the wonderful human introduced to the world on that day.
Happy birthday, sweet girl. We're so glad you're here.
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