For me the thought of a younger sibling was exciting. This was in part because we did not know the sex of the kid and I hoped so hard for a girl.
Someone to even the odds. Someone to be my real life baby doll. Someone who's nails I could paint.
I hoped so hard for pink bibs and ribbons.
If you would have asked my Mother she would have sworn I wanted her to miscarry. When I was young we would nap together on the couch. While she was pregnant we still did for a time. Then the baby started to kick. In my sleep I guess I would elbow back thinking she was nudging me. With this unconscious action I was cast aside as the baby hater.
When ever I would defend myself I would be ridiculed told to not deny it, obviously I wanted to hurt this baby. I would not admit that no matter how much prodding but my Mother would admit her own little secret. She had gone and got herself pregnant to replace her now broken youngest. I was no longer a viable child in her eyes. So she took matters into her own hands.
Now being told this, earnestly, at age eight should have turned the tide. I internalized it instead. I still looked forward to this baby because it would surly be just as much my sibling as her child.
When she went into labor we were left home alone, later joined by a babysitter, while a ambulance took her away. She came to our school the next day, walking and smiling. I found out that I now had a little brother.
So much for focused prayers.
She told me his name, Joshua Allen Micheal Cooper, I asked why the two middle names. She told me the nurse had rushed her and she could not pick between the two.
Joshua. The name as a whole was very fitting for a lawyer or doctor but Joshua by itself sounded like a perfect name for a little brother.
When we first met he was tiny, fair with spicy black hair.
Now despite the venom and accusations put my way before and after birth, I would like to think of myself as a loving and attentive big sister. I helped pick his clothes. I stayed by his side. I made him laugh and would stop his crying. I thought him new words and songs. I would watch Spot and Angels in the Outfield till the VHS tape literally broke, and would say his favorite lines to make him smile. I would chase and tumble.
When I think of Josh my minds eye goes to someone small. Perfectly sized to be held on my lap or who's hands still fit in mine.
So it is always a small shock to force myself to think of him in the present. Sixteen, six feet tall, hands that when palm to palm can close over the top of mine. A young man who is on the Deans list and needs help looking at colleges.
I never understood people who would buy presents far to juvenile for a teen to want to use or wear. They have known the teen, seen them grow into young adults but still reach for the must childish things. Then it hits me. Around the same time Josh left middle school. He was visiting and we were clothes shopping for the coming school year. Nearly everything I picked up he looked at me politely as if to say "your kidding right? Do you really want to send me to school dressed like this?"
The kid had always loved polo shirts. If they had stripes well get one in blue and green. But here we were in our third store and I hadn't a clue what he wanted or what was attractive to him. Neither did he really. He didn't quite know what he wanted but he sure as hell knew what he did not like.
So here he is, 16 about to enter his junior year and asking me to look into colleges. Sophomore year brought on his first real school dance, even more inches to his height (6ft and still growing), and something that looks more like dirt then a mustache.
Now I know he is a young man, but in my mind I still think of the toddler who loved polo's and all things baseball.
It's kind of hard to reconcile the two Josh's in my mind but I am now learning to enjoy someone to hang out with. My little brother.
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