Being the oldest of three by quite a few years has been very interesting. For five years I'm the super cool, only child. I get mami all to myself. We get to go on vacations, to the park, read books, and all that jazz. I even learned to read in spanish and began writing the alphabet before Kindergarten. Oh the joys of having a stay at home mom all to yourself.
Then all hell breaks loose. This little, poopy thing comes along. But hey, it's not so bad. She's small and can nap around my schedule so I can still do cool big girl things with mami. Best of all, when she's evil, I can give her the chicken pox. This of course backfires because then they spread to my mother and we were a mess, the three of us in a tub of oatmeal bath.
But surprise!!! Fifteen months later comes the third one. What!?! I can barely handle one, how will I put up with two?!?! All of a sudden I can't eat cookie crisps anymore (my college girlfriends can attest to how traumatized I was by this). I have to walk alongside the double stroller. And I'm put into fulltime school. As they got older, it wasn't too bad though. I had two little ducks that followed me around all day long. I could play school with them and kitchen with my new set. As my sister grew bigger, I also had someone to help me terrorize my brother.
Now my duckies are all grown up. My sister is a sophomore in college and an MP with the Army Reserves. And the baby just left for Infantry BCT & AIT with the Army last week (he'll be active). Through all this, the best feeling in the world is knowing that they still need their big sister.
I'd say we turned out ok, wouldn't you?
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