You Are a Big Sister

I don't remember much about my mom being pregnant, and by that I mean I remember none of it.  I vaguely recall putting my hand on a pregnant belly and feeling a baby kick.  I can only assume that was my mother's stomach and my brother's kick. 

I remember going to the hospital and through a window seeing a room full of babies--all wrapped in blankets, all pretty much doing the same thing.  By that I mean nothing. I remember being lifted up to see through the window and I remember being told which one was my brother.  At that moment all those other babies disappeared and it became just him and me. I can't tell you who the adult was that took me to see him and even if it was the same person to pick me up and point him out.  I can only tell  you someone did.  I assume my dad.

And so it began...  A life that would always be about little brother and big sister.

I had to sit in the corner of the gray plaid couch when they brought him home.  I could not hold him if I wasn't' in the corner (the armrest would help keep his head up).  The gray plaid couch was against the wall, the corner was by the kitchen entrance.  Someone brought him in the front door (my parents?) I just waited in the corner of the couch for him to be handed to me. 

Our parents divorced when we were young and as a result (or maybe as intended) I became the little grown up when it came to my brother. I was always looking out for him.  Even the time when I famously fed the newborn baby spaghetti.  He was crying, I figured he was hungry.  I had no idea even as a smart and awesome 4 year old that he couldn't actually eat spaghetti.  Besides, he lived.

I don't remember ever truly fighting as kids (I mean there were those few times our uncles would get us to fight, but that stopped when little brother could over power me and I suspect when my mom found out).

I remember dressing up in our superhero pajamas and "flying" all around the house.  The gray plaid couch was a favorite launching pad. We fought evil together never even breaking a lamp.

I remember when he would write Elvis as his first name on papers during his 2nd grade year. He'd later buy me my first Janis Joplin Christmas ornament.

I remember when his best friend punched me, leaving a scar above my nose (you can still see it) and my brother pounded him. He proudly still tells this story.  In the dating years, he often reminded me of this story. 

I remember when he was leaning on my aunt's car door and it opened and he rolled out.  I remember jumping out and running after him to protect him from cars.  I was fine. He had a broken leg from the fall.  My mom was not so pleased...and by that I mean not at all.

I remember when our home smoke alarm went off (the cause ended up being smoke from the fireplace).  I remember my brother down on the floor by my bed waking me up to get out of the house.  I remember in my sleepiness thinking he should not have risked his life to get me. (I no longer sleep through such things).

I remember when I started proofing his English and term papers and he started checking my math homework.

I remember many a lecture given to him over many decades.  Even so, there have only been 2 times I can remember seriously being angry towards him.

On Saturday, he will get married.  Luckily, she's already like a sister to me.