I vividly remember the day my parent sat my older brother and I, six at the time, down at the table to give us some "exciting news". They beamed that they would be bringing us a little brother or sister into the world sometime soon. My brother and I were giddy with excitement, and right then, I just knew that she was going to be a little girl.
After living all six years of my life with my brother, I became certain that I had done nothing to deserve the unbearable punishment of having two brothers. This reasoning convinced me right away that the little baby stretching out my mom's stomach could be nothing other than a precious little girl, just like me.
So when the day arrived for my perfect little sister to pop out of my mother's belly button, I found myself slightly hysterical when I first saw the baby with a little blue cap and blanket. Why would they put boy clothes on my little sister? The reality started to seep in that the ugly little creature was in fact a boy, and I could think of only one thing to do: cry. And I did, for days and days, wondering what I had done to make God so mad.
Now, twelve years later, I look back and laugh at my childish reaction to the birth of my adorable little brother, and realize that I wouldn't have wanted him any other way.
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