Eighteen-Year-Old Memories
Eighteen years ago tonight, I got to go to the house of one of Mom’s friends and hang out with this awesome older girl I had a major crush on (Autumn~ <3 lol), play with LEGOs and eat potatoes au gratin. Autumn wanted me to sleep in her bed, and Matt in a sleeping bag on the floor, but I was much too bashful to do it and was consequently put into the guest room on a bed which was much too firm. I had a hard time sleeping.
The next morning, the clamor of sparrows raiding Mrs. Atkins' garden right outside the window woke me. I figured there had been no news yet as no human sought to rouse me from me sleep. I wandered out of the guest room, feeling the old-fashioned high pile brown multitoned carpet between my toes (It felt strange!) as I wandered into the living room in search of someone who would give me chocolate-flavored breakfast cereal. Dad was on the couch talking quietly to Mrs. Atkins, which surprised me. I figured Dad would not be back until there was news to be had, and the fact that nobody was acting excited betrayed the lack thereof. I hastily demanded information of him, and was calmly informed that the baby had been born and, yes, it was a girl.
I got excited. I ran into Autumn's room and kicked Matt repeatedly until I received a vocal confirmation of my unwarranted abuse. I'm not sure exactly what I yelled at him, but I know some of it included, "I was right!" and "It's a girl!" Matt half-registered this information and unenthusiastically went back to sleep, vexing me terribly. I kicked him until he got up to strike me in return, guaranteeing his continued wakefulness.
After we were dressed and fed an obesity-assuring breakfast (which I wanted to eat after visiting the hospital, but you know Dad), Matt seemed a bit more interested in what was going on. We were brought in to St. Rose room 202 and shown Mom and a tiny, red, squished-up person in an uncomfortable-looking, lid-less plastic container of some sort. This, of course, was you. Matt was eager to prove his manliness by successfully carrying – without dropping – you and was given the opportunity with the stipulation that he be seated. More hesitatingly was I given the same chance.
To be honest, I was greatly crestfallen. No six-to-seven-year-old envisions their infant sibling as an infant for more than a moment. They forsee a playmate much in the mold of a peer. Though it was an uncharacteristic thing for me to do, I swallowed that emotion and didn’t voice it until a much later date: when it could be said that such disappointment had passed. My useless infant incessant companion was allowed to come home that same day, and as though she had sought to alleviate my chagrin, she made the great leap of turning her own head despite not even being a day old. (Nice try.)
The following night at around 10 PM, as Mom and I were watching Walker Texas Ranger, you totally tried to cover Mom in a giant bubble of liquidy, unscented baby poo as she changed your diaper. That is one of the images I’m sure will inhabit my head until my dying day.
Happy birthday, Benny!