I remember the day my little brother, Noah, was born.
April 9th, 2009.
The baby was scheduled to come at the beginning of May. Unfortunately, my mom suffered from a condition called placenta previa, in which your placenta is lying unusually low in your uterus, next to or covering your cervix. There are mild and severe forms of this condition, and up until the actual birth of my little brother, we did not realize the severity of my mom’s circumstance. However, because the placenta was still settled too low in my mom’s uterus, she had to be scheduled in for a cesarean to ensure everything went smoothly with the birthing process.
We essentially had a month’s notice for the baby. My mom went in for her final appointment in the beginning of April, and the doctor set a date for the beginning of May. My mom planned to work the first two weeks of the month, and then go on maternity leave two weeks before the surgery so she could get everything organized. But alas, things never really go as planned.
Although I wasn’t there for the event, I was told later that while I was at my friend’s house getting ready for a sleepover, my mom sat down after her last day of work, took a sip of her freshly brewed tea, and then unexpectedly began to bleed (I won’t get into too much of the gory details). She immediately called the hospital, where an ambulance was dispatched to our house.
Now you’re probably wondering where my mom’s husband, Rob, comes into all of this—well, their relationship is a unique one. They met when I was twelve years old, and Rob happened to live in Cleveland, Ohio. So from the time they first met, up until after Noah was born, they had quite the long-distance relationship where Rob would come to Canada to visit us every other weekend (Fun fact: he still does this now, but from a much more manageable distance).
Anyway, back to the story. As my mom waited for the ambulance to arrive, Rob just so happened to pull into the driveway, not realizing until he got out of the car that his wife was about to have the baby. Surprise!
Meanwhile, I was STILL at my friend’s house. It wasn’t until my mom got to the hospital that my Grandad came to pick me up. I remember listening to him over the apartment intercom, telling me that my mom was having the baby. I thought he was losing it—I mean, I had just seen her a couple hours before, and the baby wasn’t supposed to come for another two weeks! Let’s just say the experience was a little disorienting.
So my grandparents and I made our way over to the hospital. By the time we got there, the doctors had already performed the surgery, and my mom was being rolled off on a hospital bed, stoned out of her mind. But the first thing I remember seeing was Rob, standing in the middle of the hospital, looking completely terrified, and holding a teeny-tiny person in his arms. And this teeny-tiny person was my beautiful brother, Noah Ian Michael Scott.
Things didn’t start off easy—because Noah was born prematurely, he had to stay in the hospital for another nine days to be monitored. He was so, so tiny. When I held him for the first time, I thought I would shatter his entire body. But God, was he one gorgeous little boy.
I became a big sister (again) when I was thirteen-and-a-half years old, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sure, it was tough in the beginning having to get used to a baby in the house. Especially a baby like Noah—to be honest, he was kind of miserable. He didn’t smile very often, at least not until he got a bit older. Changing his diaper was also a nightmare: every time the diaper came off, pee went everywhere! I mean, diapers are already quite unpleasant, but when you have to clean pee off yourself, the walls, the door, and a screaming, naked baby, it’s even worse. Yet there were so many amazing things about having such a young sibling.
During the summertime, I used to always take Noah out for walks in the stroller—it was probably my favourite thing to do with him. Unfortunately, people suck, and always gave me dirty looks, thinking he was my kid. But I never cared, and I still don’t, because in a lot of ways, I feel like he’s more than just my brother. I was his big sister, but I also helped my mom take care of him, especially when Rob was away during the week. Even though he’s seven now, I still can see him taking his first steps. It scares me how fast time escapes from us.
One of the greatest things about having a seven-year-old brother is being able to relive my childhood. Noah keeps me young and constantly reminds me how beautiful and fascinating the world can be. He sees things with fresh eyes and an opened mind, which brings new life to my own perceptions. Sometimes, when I’m stressing over a paper, or upset because I have to go to work, I just watch Noah and find it in myself to try to enjoy all of life’s experiences the way he does. While I try everyday to inspire him to be a good person and to work hard, he is also my own inspiration too.
I’m sure there are some people who would hate to have a much younger sibling; in many ways, you are like a third parent for them. But in even more ways, you are actually their best friend, their playmate, someone they can turn to when they need help but don’t want Mom or Dad. While you teach them new things every day, you also learn from them. You get to see things in ways you never did before. And ultimately, you get to experience a sibling bond that is unlike any other.