(Video and article are related, but never completely the same!)
I was 15,5 years old when my youngest brother was born.
Being that far apart in age made our bond strong from the very beginning.
Even as a small child, I already was obsessed by babies, wanting to be a mother and nothing else, dreaming of my own big family from early on. At an age where life didn’t go fast enough and I was living through the years waiting for my real life to begin, it was the most amazing thing to be able to give those motherly feelings a go already and help taking care of that baby brother. He healed me in ways that he will never understand. He gave my teenage life a meaning while I was waiting out the years until I would be free and on my own, finally starting that life I wanted.
I hated the forced setting of school and family-life as a minor, while the only thing I wanted was making my own decissions in life and being free. Waiting out the years is a dreadful feeling as a teenager. I didn’t truly care for anything in my life, because it didn’t feel like MY life. Just like with every teenager, people all around me told me what to do and how to live my life. And I hated that. Seeing my peers go through that without thinking twice about it made it worse. This was what people thought was normal. I was the odd one out again, not liking that people thought it was normal that kids and teenagers had to obey to their elders.
Teenage life went by very slowly, because I dreaded every single day.
And then, one day, after 8+ years of trying to make another baby and finally giving up, my mother came with the best news I had received in my life so far: their was a baby growing inside of her.
Finally life was bearable again. A little baby would join our household, giving me a front row seat to watch the life I wanted so badly for myself. It crawled its way into my heart already that very same day and never left since.
The months went by, my mothers belly grew and I could see firsthand what a pregnancy was and what exactly I dreamed of myself. It was more amazing than I could imagine. Seeing that belly grow, starting to feel little kicks through that belly, growing into bigger kicks over the weeks. The baby and I already created a bond during the pregnancy. Every day, I would push my mother on a chair and spend some time talking and fondling that little kicker inside her, not always noticing the mother surrounding it 😉 it was just me and that baby.
When it was time to choose godmothers, I was mad at my parents for not choosing me. Today, that feeling still lingers a little bit. I would have been perfect for that role… nobody loved that child more than I did and nobody would be better to help him through life than me. Next to his parents of course…
But they didn’t give me the role of guardian angel and choose someone else instead. I still remember the sadness and pain of that moment. For me, it was only normal that I would take that role, because of our bond already. Who else would be good enough?
But I wasn’t allowed to be the one, the role as “big sis” was special enough for me.
When the time came that the baby was born, I still had a front row seat. I managed to convince my parents to let me go with them and see the birth. Luckily, that didn’t take a lot of convincing.
That night, we all went to the hospital. My parents, my oldest brother (4 years younger than me) and me. My oldest brother was already 11yo and more than capable to entertain himself in the room my mother would stay in afterwards and our father would check on him often during labor. Apparently he watched football matches on TV the whole time.
Labor took less than 2 hours, before the baby was born. One of the memories that my mother still talks about whenever she can, is that we thought that the baby would be a girl, but when he was finally born and something more hang between his legs, I would make a screeching sound. She still thinks that was very funny.
But there he was, our little boy.
I remember the room zooming in on that little guy and when the nurses took him away to dress him, I didn’t leave his side. I couldn’t… I was so certain that they would do it all wrong and I needed to know for sure that he was fine. When they were done, I took him from them and brought him to our mother. Knowing that I was the first one to take him in my arms, still makes me warm inside.
Luckily, my mother didn’t mind that I was so protective of him. Now, 15 years later, nothing changed in that department. He’s still as much mine as he is hers.
He and I were bonded from the very start. From the moment he was born, I helped taking care of him. Every day, when I came home from school, I put him in a babycarrier and we would go outside for a walk. Spend some quality time, just him and me. We mostly would go watch the horses as he loved looking at them. But he and I were close from the start.
And yes, I knew (and still know) that he wasn’t really mine, he was my brother. But it was the next best thing. My heart had embraced him and never let go again.
And now we are 2017 and he is the same age that I was when he was born: 15,5 years.
We still have that close bond that we had from the beginning and we are still connected.
I have children of my own (all his siblings have children already, he is an uncle to 12 nieces and nephews so far), but he will always have a special place in my heart. Next to my own family, he’s the most important person in my life and I can’t imagine that changing in the future.
Speaking of the future. I love the idea that he is already planning to go traveling with us (he uses the excuse that we need a camera-man to convince us… like we need any convincing at all) from the moment he can do so. So in a few years, when his school life is over, I’m pretty sure that we have a co-traveler with us once in a while.
Maybe I’ll make him our nanny or something…