April 9th, 2005 - A Defining Moment

An event doesn’t become a defining moment as a result of its gravity or scale, but rather through the change in direction it elicits. The approach of my younger sister's 5th birthday made me reflect on one of those defining moments....

During dinner one night in the Fall of my sophomore year, my parents gave me the most horrific news I had ever received. My mother was pregnant. Again. I am not typically an emotional person, but after a few minutes, I couldn’t restrain myself. A sort of shocked disbelieving laughter quickly turned into quiet sobbing, and then bawling so uncontrollable I had to leave the table and sprint up to my room. I already had four younger brothers, and I didn’t need or want any more siblings. Two years earlier my mom had had a baby, and with the emotional highs and lows that come with pregnancy coupled with the stress of taking care of four other kids, I just tried to stay out of my mom’s way for a year. I wasn’t really prepared for another year of exile in my room.
 
Once I finished venting about how the baby was “ruining my life before it was even born,” I was able to calm down and the dark cloud of doom seemed to pass from over my head, although doom clouds typically don’t stray far from teenagers. Then came the ultrasound; that highly anticipated image which appears to be a big blob of black and gray shadows but somehow reveals whether the child will be donning rosy pink or baby blue upon its arrival. It turned out pink was the color that would be invading our house for the next few years.

Having had four brothers and not one sister, this news was supposed to thrill me. However, the doom cloud came roaring back and I lost control. I went on a rampage with a green highlighter and left my mark everywhere. The florescent green words “Stupid Baby” appeared all over everything on our refrigerator, including and especially the ultrasound pictures.  I was swiftly and heavily reprimanded but my feelings remained unchanged. I had always been the only girl, the favorite daughter and sister, carving out my own place among a frenzy of brothers. Now there would be a new girl, sure to be everyone’s favorite if for no other reason than her age. She could be everything I was not. She could be the perfect girly girl and love getting her hair done. She could be the loving “huggy” type and be a star in some athletic endeavor, or even worse, she could be into dancing. My new "sister", I could barely choke out the word, could be my replacement.

The pregnancy months dragged on and finally in April, the “blessed” day arrived. The morning I was set to take the ACT, I got a phone call at 6:45am from my dad saying I had a healthy baby sister. All through the test I kept thinking, “Baby messing up my life phase two… post-pregnancy.” I finally got up to the hospital around two o’clock and was able to hold the baby that had been the object of all my resentment. Something I discovered at that moment: it’s absolutely impossible to be upset at a newborn baby. By no means did I have an epiphany moment where all my feelings of anger left me, but I slowly began to change my tune about the new addition to the family.

Having a sister sixteen years my junior has not been a cakewalk. Whenever I used to fill out forms that asked what language was spoken most in my home I looked for the box that said “Baby Talk”, but for some reason it was never an option. Whenever I tell people about my family and I mention George and Lucy (my youngest brother and sister) at the end, I always get questions like, “Oh, do your grandparents live with you?” and after I reply no but before I can explain they ask, “Oh do you have dogs or something?” Once again I must reply “no” and proceed to explain. I’ve changed enough diapers to fill an entire dumpster. My world has been flooded with more shades of pink than I knew existed.

Despite these and other drawbacks however, it has been nice to arrive home from school and have little person run up to meet me. It has been nice to have an ever-present source of entertainment to turn to between the long hours of school, work, and schoolwork. I learned first-hand the benefits of laughing rather than crying over spilled milk.

Nothing ever turns out the way you think it will; life’s full of surprises and change is inevitable. All the old adages are true. I just wish I would have realized it earlier. I learned a valuable lesson in the importance of rolling with the punches. Sometimes what appear to be punches turn out to be simple pushes in the right direction.