Today, after 25 years of life, I realized that I am a little sister. I don’t know what I thought I was – maybe just a regular sister – but I certainly never thought of myself as the “little” or “younger” one. I read it here, on my sister’s blog, and I found it kind of endearing. After all, it is true: she has three whole years on me. When my mother carried me around in her belly, Ashley announced that she, in fact, was pregnant as well – with a duck! And when my mom was in labor, my sister was whisked away to an amusement park to have her last round of only child style fun. And when Ashley was six, she wrote a short story stating that she would not trade me for a dog. Thank you.
And now, when I am 25 and she is in her last weeks of 28, I can still convince her to do crazy things like jump off mountain logs with me.
By the way: I am at least two inches taller than Ashley. Plus, my head is way bigger. So who is the little one now?
Okay, I still am, but it's just because I was on a lower rock.
And now, when I am 25 and she is in her last weeks of 28, she can still convince me to do crazy things like run a mountain mile with her. I hate running. And she doesn’t. But we both almost died and I couldn’t walk down stairs for two days. I still like her a lot though.
And I especially like being her little sister.