My little brother had a birthday last week, and he turned 25. The whole thing is rather frightening to me because I remember very clearly the day he was born. I was a perky four year old with wildly curly hair, so excited for what I was sure would be a little sister to play with me: it seemed like a good time to cut my imaginary twin sister, Marie, loose. It seems strange to me that my brother and I are both well and truly adults now. Luckily, we’ve both staunchly refused to grow up completely, so that’s a bit of a help.
On the day my little brother made his grand, messy entrance, Momma and Dad dropped me off with the dayhome lady and headed over to our small town hospital so the doctor could catch the new baby. I don’t remember how long it took, or what the weather was doing, although I have a vague memory of rain, but eventually my dad came back to pick me up. This all happened back when children weren’t herded ironically out of the maternity wards, and I was allowed to hold my very fresh new brother.
If certain companies aren’t allowed to show super airbrushed photographs of celebrities because such images are misleading, I think all those diaper, formula, and butt ointment companies should be made to use photos of real infants on their packages and their advertisements. Picture me, four years old and expecting a peachy, pretty baby like the ones on television, only to be handed a red and squishy little brother. Never mind that I really wanted a baby girl, because by that point even I understood that there was no sending him back like a new sofa that’s delivered in the wrong pattern. I just expected a cooing, grinning little bundle, and I had no idea how unsettling a newborn that’s been delivered in the standard fashion can be.
On that note, check out the size of that kid’s head. My momma was a maternity superhero.
When I was a kid, and my little brother drove me crazy daily, I never would have believed that we’d get along as adults. I’ve almost forgotten about the time he locked me in the sheep shed, causing the ram to attack me and break my finger. I’m over the day he “reorganized” all the one inch squares for a 1400 piece mosaic wall hanging I quilted in highschool (go, 4-H). All those shenanigans happened a long time ago.
These days, he’s just my (big) little brother, and I love him.
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5 Comments Add yours
That is a totally adorable picture of you with your little brother!
Yeah, the sixe of his head – OUCH! Your poort Mother!
If the diaper and baby food companies used real kids in their ads and showed true circumstances and how hard it is to take care of an infant and that sometimes they cry and scream and poop out of their diapers and have food on their face s- well, we’d have a lot more birth control and a lot fewer newborns (lol)
Glad the shenanigans are over and you enjoy loving him now – brothers specialize in driving their sisters crazy!
That is a lovely post about your brother! I have two brothers. One older, one younger. The younger one caused me SUCH trouble growing up, actually they both did. After we all grew up we all still gave each other a hard time (in a much more loving way however), and got along. Unfortunately my younger brother died two years ago, 2 months prior to his 40th birthday, and the fact that the last thing I said to him while he was alive was “I love you”, made it just a wee bit more bearable! Treasure your sibling!!!!!
I’m so sorry to hear that you lost your brother, Carol. I’m glad you had loving last memory of him.
I’ve really only been able to appreciate mine since we’ve been adults, but it’s better late than never, right. There’s only the two of us, so we need to stick together.
That picture is really cute. What a pretty little girl. My thoughts of ‘poor mother’ are about brushing that hair of yours. Thank goodness for conditioner eh? Brothers are a treasure. Mine is 4 yrs older than me and I heard that when I was born he had a cold and was told not to get too close to the baby. The morning after I was brought home, my brother was found hovering over my crib blowing in my face. Yeah, well he loves me now. Best Advice I got when getting ready to bring a new baby home to my 2 yr old was: It’s like bringing home a second wife and saying, “Won’t this be fun? She can help you around the house and stuff.” *bzzt* Wrong. So I told my 2 yr old that the new brother wouldn’t be much fun for a while but he could help me teach the baby to do all the cool stuff like eat, talk, walk and play with toys. They are 20 and 22 now, went through their hate/hate phase and like each other again now. Brothers rock.
Yeah, growing up curly wasn’t always easy. I wrote about it way back in the early days of BSP. https://bluespeckledpup.com/2010/08/16/big-hair-big-smile/
I’m glad your boys grew out of the constant warfare and get along now. After all, we’re adults much longer than we’re children, right?