I’ve always wanted a brother. Always. And not just any old brother, but an older brother. The kind that takes care of you and protects you as only a big brother can.
Sadly, this was completely impossible because—well— I am the oldest of three girls.
My longing/wishing, mushy I-missed-out feelings have come to surface yet again as I watch my son and daughter interact.
He is the stalwart defender and protector of his sister (except when he is “accidentally” jumping, or throwing things on her, notice the quotation marks around accidentally—yea you know what I mean–accident smackshident!) She is “his”, not Momma’s not Daddy’s–the Red-Haired Girl is his baby.
She lights up whenever he is near. She laughs and giggles whenever he talks to her. She grabs at his neck trying to hug him (or steal his toys?). She knows he is her brother, the other “little person” in the house.
It’s a beautiful thing folks. I’m sad I missed out.
But I love my sisters and know that I have a special relationship with them that I would never have with a brother.
Siblings are great!