I basically grew up as an only child, with my sister being 18 years older than me, and never living at my home during college. I got mostly everything I wanted, I never had to share my toys and the attention was always on me. Some days this was a blessing, like on my birthday when no one else tried to blow out my candles or rip open my presents like I had seen so many of my friends’ younger siblings do. Some days it felt like a curse, like when I was mad at my parents and there was no one to sympathize with me, or when all I wanted was someone my age to play dolls with. I was immensely jealous of my friends whose little siblings would follow them around endlessly and idolized everything they did. And then I got my own taste of this experience.
I can remember the day the girls were born. I used their birth as an excuse for missing a homework assignment, an excuse not even my strict 6th grade history teacher could argue with. But this wasn’t a usual birth. It was early, try 3 months early, and the girls were not doing well. For months, it was trips to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) at the Cornell Hospital in Manhattan. I can still remember sitting outside the room the girls were in, spending countless hours on the hospital floor because only two members of the family were allowed in the room at once. I didn’t know details, but I knew it was bad. Suddenly, life wasn’t all about me, I wasn’t the number one concern but rather they were: the two tiny, one-pound babies fighting for their lives.
Seeing them for the first time was one of the scariest experiences of my life. I watched them in that massive incubator, with tubes coming out of every direction of their bodies, I could see their hearts beating out of their tiny chests because their skin was so thin and they were so tiny. Yet, I had never felt so much love towards anyone and I promised them and myself in that moment that I would never let anything happen to them.
Almost seven years later, and I now have spent countless hours at dance recitals, birthday parties, sleepovers and play dates. I have to share my old toys, when the kids are around there is zero attention left for me and I’m “assisted” every year in having my birthday cake candles blown out. And honestly, I’ve never been happier.
I know the girls have entered my house when I can hear their feet pounding up the steps and their giggles fill the hallway. They burst into my room and immediately begin looking through all my stuff and I have to remind them that before they can touch anything I need a big hello-hug and kiss. Their little brother, my amazing nephew, comes toddling behind and I have to force him to give me a kiss. I put on some Taylor Swift and immediately it turns into a dance party. I sit on my bed and watch as they dance around the room, laughing and crashing into each other.
They love to ask me questions about my hair and makeup, find enjoyment in going through all my stuff and are always climbing all over me. Does it ever get annoying? Of course, but they have taught and given me more than I could ever give back. They taught me what it means to feel truly responsible for another human being, what being a role model means and what it is to love someone unconditionally. Everyday they remind me of how exciting the little things in life are and to find the good in everything. I’m so proud of the amazing little girls they have become, I love watching my nephew discover new things everyday and life without my favorite people is unimaginable.