The Brother/Sister Relationship

My daughter was 5 years old when she started with the begging.

She pleaded every day, often multiple times each day, for a baby brother.  While I desperately wanted another child, my husband took a little more convincing.  He was happy with Goose.  He wanted her to be an only child.  He adored her with every fiber of his being and couldn't imagine bringing another child into our house when he so obviously would only ever love her.

I am so happy that Whit and Goose have that bond - that special bond that you always read about fathers having with their daughters.  One of my clients, who is both a physician and a father to a little girl, told me over lunch today about his bond with his daughter.  He described it as being in love with her -- obviously not in a romantic sense -- but in a way that she absolutely melted his heart.  He also told me that, as a physician caring for all kinds of patients, he doesn't think that love ever goes away.  He described old men on their deathbeds, who would literally light up the room when their daughters walked in.  

Whit absolutely lights up when Goose is around.

I like to think that my dad felt that way about me when I was a little girl.  I know my love for my father is unlike any other in my life.  My desire to please him, to make him proud of me, is a large part of who I am and why I am where I am today.

My father is the single most important man in my life.  And I love him.  Very, very much.

When Whit initially put up a fight on having a second child, I tried to convince myself that I was content.  That I was happy with this family of three.

But I wasn't.  I didn't want my daughter to not know the love of a relationship with a brother or sister.  I am the oldest of four children:  two girls and two boys.  My bond with my siblings rivals no other.  I would fight to the death for any one of them.  I am so thankful for them.

My brother, David, lives in South Carolina with his wife and their son.  He followed in my footsteps (and those of our parents) and attended USC.  He fell in love with Columbia and never returned home.  My sister and I talk on the phone every night.  Mostly about nothing.  But those conversations of no real import mean the world to me.  My baby brother, Michael, is our special gift.  The gift that kept me from going to the private Catholic high school I had been accepted into because my parents could not afford the tuition with a baby on the way.  (I'm not still bitter about that all these years later.  Much.)  

We joke in my family that we are like two families:  we have the same mother and father, but two totally different sets of siblings.  I am the oldest and David is five years my junior.  We're family number one.  David and I were both outgoing, got good grades, and were very active in sports and other organizations. Then came my sister, five years later (I was nearly 11 years old when she was born), followed by SURPRISE! Michael four years later.  Family number two.  Megan was definitely not into sports and was much quieter than David or I.  She was so beautiful that people couldn't help but adore her.  Michael was the typical baby of the family -- gregarious, outgoing, and totally lovable.  

Michael was only 4 years old when I left for college.  I'm incredibly sad to say that he doesn't remember me ever living at home.  It's so weird because I remember everything about him.  I remember he was born on a night that I was cheerleading at a Chamblee High School basketball game.  I remember his footie pajamas.  I remember rocking him in the middle of the night because I couldn't bear to hear him cry.  I took him to see Santa Claus.  I read to him, fed him his bottles, and taught him how to swim.  He doesn't remember a thing about those days.  I do.  And hopefully I will carry those memories until I am old and gray.

My other brother, David, brings a smile to my face every single time I think of him.  He didn't do so when we were much younger and he was nothing but a giant pest.  When he was born, I couldn't bear the thought of having to share MY mother and father with this screaming red headed monster.  To put it bluntly, I hated him.  Hate is such a strong word.  And it fits.

It fits so well, in fact, that I actually did my best to simply take care of the problem.  I hid him in the dresser drawer when he was a newborn.  At five years old, I thought that was a pretty clever way to get rid of him.  It didn't work.  So, when he was older, I tried to push him off of the carport in his walker.  Again.  It didn't work.  (Though he did require surgery on his eyes years later because he landed on his head when I pushed him down that hill.)

Many years later, I am so glad that my efforts to off my brother didn't work.  Words won't do justice to the love that I feel for him.  Here we are at his wedding a couple of years (and about twenty pounds ago for me).  

And here he is, holding Henry when he was just weeks old:

David and I, while similar in many ways, are very different.  He is as laid back as I am type A.  He is artistic.  I am not.  At all.  And although I consider myself a fairly outgoing and personable woman, David has never met a stranger.  And I'm pretty sure he has no enemies.

Thinking back on my relationship with my own siblings, I simply could not imagine not giving Goose the opportunity to feel that same bond.  I felt a deep sense of emptiness that I knew wouldn't be filled if she was an only child.  I did some serious begging and made promises that I knew I couldn't keep (i.e., "if you give me a second child, I'll never ask for anything ever again").  I also did a lot of praying.  And, after two years and several thousands of dollars spent on a fertility specialist, we found out we were pregnant with Henry.

Goose was thrilled when she learned there was a baby in my tummy.

She went with us to the hospital when he was born.  Though she wasn't there for the delivery, she returned to my room literally within minutes of his birth.

And she was happy.

You have never met a big sister who was more proud.

Finally!  She had someone she could play with! She couldn't wait to show him her Dad's iPad.

There is rarely a moment when they are separated by more than a room.  Henry adores his sister.

And she adores him.

And my husband and I adore them both.

I can't help but feel like I'm stepping back in time every time I watching Henry and Goose interact with each other.  I remember playing the same "peekaboo" games with my brother.  I remember wanting to carry my sister around like a rag doll.  And I remember never wanting Michael to be more than an arms length away.   Though we are all grown now with children of our own (except Michael -- who is getting married in the summer), I still feel that same bond with my siblings now that I did when we all lived under the same roof.  If anything, that bond has only grown stronger with the passing years.

Though I am confident that there will come a time when Goose will be more annoyed by than enamored with her baby brother, I am so thankful that we gave her this chance to experience the bond between a brother and a sister.  For it is remarkable.