She asked me what I would tell him when I first saw him. "Nothing much. I think I'll tell him to not touch my dolls, though," I said, calmly. To be frank, I wasn't calm at all. I could feel my heart rate go up by the second, and was also sweating like mad. Today was the day I had looked forward to for the last eight months. Anyone gets impatient after waiting for eight months. Me? I wasn’t an exception. Little would I know that I would experience a variety of emotions for what I had waited for.

Believe it or not, I can still remember this day, even though eight years have passed and my brother is now enrolled in second grade. The day I walked into my mother's hospital room still feels like yesterday.

The suite was big, with two rooms and a bathroom. There was my mother's room, and a lounge area, where the family could sit down and rest. The walls were wallpapered a creamy white and on the floor was a maroon colored carpet. There were windows all around the bed, and light streamed into the room, making my mother's brown hair glow.

At seven years, I still believed that girls came from sugar, spice, and all things nice. Boys came from snips, snails and puppy dog's tails.

I took the elevator down to the floor the nursery was located in. I walked nervously to the glass wall, my father, calmly. The nurses inside the nursery waved at me, and I waved back. I scanned the rows and rows of babies in their small box-like beds, surprised by how small they were. It was January, the weather was cold, so they were all obscured from view by their blankets. I tugged on the sleeve of my father’s coat.
“Daddy, where is he?”
“There. Do you see the last bed to the right?” He pointed to a bed in the far corner.
“Oh My God.” I felt my blood run cold.

I was seven, with no knowledge about babies. I fully expected a bouncing, smiling, standing baby boy, which chubby cheeks. Imagine my surprise when I discovered a miniscule, red-faced, baby in a blue romper, sleeping in a bed the size of a shoe box. I immediately gave my father an "are-you-kidding-me" kind of stare.

The baby was eventualProxy-Connection: keep-alive
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wheeled upstairs and into the arms of my mother. She was ecstatic, and tried to get me to hold the baby too. I declined her offer, saying that it would be dangerous if I dropped the baby. He was ugly; a mass of red skin and small slits for eyes and a mouth. He irritated me in every way possible to mankind. He stole the spotlight and everyone crowded around him 24/7. He made my mother exhausted everyday. He wasn’t even cute! To my selfish, seven-year old self, that was just harsh treatment. I was grumpy for most of the time and I hated my newborn brother.

Even though I once had such violent emotions toward him, today my brother is probably one of the best things that ever happened in my life. He looks up to me, believe it or not! He respects me, which does absolute wonders for my confidence when it’s in maintenance. He’s a baby next to me, and needs my help almost 24/7. He says so many good things about me that his friend’s parents think of me as some kind of genius. He makes me feel important. I may have hated him once. However, today I feel only love and adoration for him. He may act a bit annoying sometimes, but that’s what little brothers are supposed to do - annoy their older siblings.

Once upon a time, my brother was someone I absolutely loathed. Today, I love him to bits. Often, the worst can change to the best. In my case, a supposed nightmare changed into a blessing.