The Story About the Day I Met My Brother

It is August 8, 1980.  I remember this very clearly.  I was NOT happy.  There were tears.  LOTS of tears! Perhaps even a temper tantrum?

Why was I upset?  Well, my parents were leaving.  Here I am, only 5 years old, and they were heading out of the door suitcase in hand leaving me behind!  This seemed to be taking place in the afternoon or early evening.  I was sitting on one of our blue couches, being miserable, and tears are streaming down my face as the babysitter (maybe there was more than one?) was trying to comfort me.  I was not happy to be left alone with them.  I was told Grandpa and Grandma would be coming (I think).  That was going to be HOURS away.  All I know was that I was upset they were leaving me.  I don’t remember much else that happened after they walked out the door leaving me to my misery.  (Perhaps there was consoling with Kraft macaroni and cheese and hot dogs?  I can only speculate…)

Now, I do remember spending that morning (or a morning close to that time) at the doctor’s office with my Mom.  She was going to have a baby.  I am not sure what I really thought about this, except that it was something that everyone felt was very exciting.  I was going to become someone called a “Big Sister”.  I guess that sounded ok.  Babies were ok, but I did not have much experience with them being an only child up to this point.  (Actually, given the circumstances of my own personal entrance into this world, it is a miracle that my parents actually considered having another baby.  But that is a story for another time…).  

The downside of Mom having a baby was that her tummy kept getting bigger, and I had a much harder and harder time crawling into her lap as time went on.  I remember sliding off of her knee (maybe I meant to do that???).  However, it was cool to feel Mom’s tummy jump.  Apparently that was the baby kicking in there.  VERY WEIRD! How did the baby even get in there anyway???  (Unfortunately Mom and Dad made the BIG mistake of telling me how the baby got in there.  That is truly a story for another time and only meant for those of you over the age of 40.  Ha! )

I really did not like the doctor’s office.  It smelled sharp and musty at the same time, and it was cold and the chairs were NOT comfortable.  They were way too big for a 5 year old.  Plus my Mom was in with the doctor for a very long time (well it seemed like an eternity to my five-year-old self).  I read my books.  They made me happy and kept my attention, but that even wore on.  I remember being nervous and excited and bored and fidgety. 

Well, then Mom appeared and she was very excited.  She said the baby was going to come very soon and we needed to get home right away and call Dad (or at least I think that was the gist of it).  I just felt the energy and excitement and the urgency of it all, along with feeling cramped and irritated after sitting in the doctor’s office being bored.  Now we seemed like we were rushing!  I remember taking one last look at the (perhaps fake) plants at the doctor’s office, and the memory goes dark. 

So, now back to the beginning where I am sitting on the couch blubbering and pouting.  I don’t remember much after that.  So, fast forward to the next day perhaps, where I am hand-in-hand with my Dad.  We are getting into the car, and he is telling me that we are going to meet my new brother!   I am feeling excited as we go to the hospital. 

Flash to a memory of me walking down the hall of the hospital hand-in hand with my Dad.  Everything is in shades of yellow.  Everyone is taller than me and walking around in white coats or drab green uniforms (doctors and nurses), or wandering around bewildered or with purpose (friends, family), or in wheelchairs (patients).  No one looks happy except my Dad.  He is happy so I try to be happy too.  Except mostly I am nervous.  What will this new baby be like?  Will I like the him?  Will he like me?  I am trying to see inside the doors and windows of the rooms we are passing, but I am too short.  I think we take an elevator.  The doors are metal and gray.  I like to press the buttons.  Everything smells clean and sharp and maybe like coffee? 

Finally we are walking down a hallway.  My Dad stops and says, “Here we are.”  I just see a wall and the lower edge of a window.  My Dad picks me up and I peer into a room full of babies.  They are all in glass cube things with white blankets.  Some have blue hats, some have pink.  Dad points and says, “There is your brother, Greg.”  I see that he has a blue hat.  The nurse wheels his cube over so we can have a better look at him.  He is tiny and sort of wrinkly.  His eyes are closed.  But I do notice that he has a tiny fist poking out from underneath the blankets.  Sort of like Super-man flying, I think to myself.  That is sort of cool.  I think I can probably like a brother like that I think to myself.

Later I get to meet him in person and he holds my index finger in his tiny fist as Mom rocks him.  I can’t remember if this was at the hospital or back at home.  Probably both!  He smells sort of sweet, like baby powder.  I remember asking myself how this little person ever fit into Mom.  Not much space to spread out.  However, he sure fit into our hearts very fast.  Despite the midnight crying and periodic diaper blowouts (another story), my brother made my heart a bit bigger by invading my five year old world. 

So that was the day that I met my brother.  From that point on, we were a family of four and I was learning my new role as “Big Sister”.   I instantly became his protector and to his likely irritation- tormentor, teacher, and second Mother.  (Granted he has dished some of that right back at me---more stories to come!!!)  But most of all, not only were we family, but we are friends- I hope the best of friends!    

I have so many more stories to share about growing up with Greg.  But those are stories for another time…