Today is March 8, which means it’s International Women’s Day. But that’s not why I’m posting. Today is also the day my baby brother was born, though he isn’t much of a baby these days. In honor of him, I thought I would share the very special story behind how I came to have a brother.
Chris, this one goes out to you. You’re welcome.
First, let me share that my brother and I are both adopted. This was never a surprise to us; we’ve always been open as a family when it comes to our adoption.
When I was four years old, around November, I started telling everyone at preschool that I was getting a baby brother for my birthday (which was in March). It was all I wanted, and what I usually wanted, I got. Now, as I’ve gotten older, that isn’t always true, but let’s stick to the point. I kept insisting I was getting this brother in March. All of the preschool teachers were concerned because it was obvious my mother was not pregnant. So, the school called my parents in and had a conference to discuss this.
A lot was going on behind the scenes, but eh, who really wants to ruin a good story with legalities?
Long story short, I continued to tell everyone that in March, I would be getting a brother for my birthday. Everyone, but my parents, though they had not said a word to me, were worried.
Finally, March came around and on March 8, a week before my birthday, 37 years ago, my parents sat me down in our horrible brown plaid chair to share the news with me: they had adopted a baby boy who had just been born that day. I guess they were expecting me to jump up and down with joy, but all I said was, “I know. I’ve been telling you that for months.” They just laughed. And then I was given the chance to name the baby; I chose the name Christopher.
Now, my mum likes to remind me at this point that I then graciously gave her a horrible case of Chickenpox (I’m a giver), so the delivery of Chris to our home would be delayed a few weeks, but I was okay with that because more me time (I was a diva even as an early child).
Near the end of March, with a house full of people (as usual during my childhood), my baby brother, Chris, was delivered to us. I was thrilled. Overjoyed. In love. And RIGHT!
And in a few weeks, I was already asking when we would be returning him. That’s when I learned that apparently a brother stays with you for life. There was no return policy.
I joke, but I love my brother beyond belief and am grateful he is mine. So, Chris: I love you. I’m proud of you. I know dad would be proud of you, too. You are an amazing father, a decent brother, and a good guy. Thanks for being you.
I’ve attached a few photos of the birthday boy…as you can see, he even puts up with my affinity for selfies.
