I recall the conversation was as usual and required me to answer a series of questions about my sister. It was one of many phone calls I answered from various family members or friends who called to ask about the baby. Her arrival seemed so long ago but had it been a mere 6 months? Maybe it was because I’d fallen into a routine of waking to her cries at six am, feeding her and then changing her diapers before getting on the bus. Mom was so tired then and this allowed her some additional time in the mornings I went to school to sleep in. When I returned home, I helped entertain her and babysat so mom and my step dad had some time away from child rearing.
A year prior I would never have imagined my life as an older sister. I was too busy consumed by my own worries, pleasures and self-centered desires. Such is the life of a tween who’s an only child. Before, my schedule would never have provided ample time for a sibling especially one who is so young and needy. After all, even at my age, wasn’t that my role? My time was typically split between my mother’s house where I primarily lived and my father’s place in the city. My life had taken a fortunate turn when both of my parents remarried providing not only additional income but two more “parents” to award me with presents at the many gift giving opportunities in my life. Not only did I not want for anything but I had two sets of everything considered important to someone at my age divided between my two homes. Other kids who shared their lives entwined in sibling rivalry, shared toys and diminished amounts of presents during the holidays were well aware of my advantages over them. Probably my proudest moment was at 12 when I got a cell phone from my guilt ridden dad who wished he could spend more time with me. His premise was that he could reach me anytime on this new instrument. To me it was another one of many presents then and to come.
I knew the moment my mom told me she was expecting a child that it was at the beginning of the end for my idyllic life. Entering the hospital, I exited the gift shop with the obligatory “I’m the big sister” t-shirt in hand, sure to please my mom. But I knew I was obviously trumped when I entered her room and saw her broadly smiling at the bundle in her arms. I surprisingly joined her in smiling at this tiny creature.
And so began my life as an older sister.
Five years later, as I cross through the buildings on campus at college, I can feel her small, tender hand in mine. She is a part of me not only as a family member or my only sibling but as a more than that. Her presence in my life has changed who I would have been if she hadn’t been there at all, if I had remained only me and had not become us. Her young life has taught me to be immeasurably patient, forgiving and generous. The thirteen year difference provided me an opportunity to understand what demands a child places on a person and a family and this has helped inform the choices that I will make in my future. But even more than any of this, her presence in my life makes me a much better me than could ever have been without her in my life. And if I do choose to have a child, it will be because I know what it is to be a mother.
