When I was 5, my youngest brother was born.
He was born at the end of October in 1987. My dad took us straight from a Halloween part to meet the new baby in the hospital. We all went to meet him that night in our costumes.
The nurses in the hospital had nicknamed him "Moose". He was a ten-pounder.
We children had been staying at a friend's house. I was so excited when it was time to come home. I couldn't wait to play with the new baby. When we arrived home, I ran upstairs to find my mom. She had been rocking the baby, and probably enjoying a few moments of peace and calm before the rest of us came home.
I walked in to see her and she smiled at me. She held the baby out and I ran up to him.
His face looked like a waffle. I think he had been smushed against her sweater a little too long. My mother assured me that it would not stay that way.
I adored having a baby around. I would do anything I could to make him laugh. I have always loved loved loved babies.
1 comment:
I just love all these posts! I had to laugh at "4," as my best friend at that age was also a boy, and peeing (especially the variety of ways one can do it) was a hot topic of conversation for us as well! Our friendship lasted for years, as we attended the same daycare, and adventures were never sweeter than when Justin was there to share them. My mom always knew where to find us at pickup time: in one of three corners in time-out (Justin's, Katie's and my play always got out of hand by the end of the day--hee hee!).
My girls seem fascinated by babies--I hope they'll love their little sister as much as you loved your baby brother.
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