It’s Like Turning 30 All Over Again

My baby sister turned 16 yesterday, ya’ll. 16.

Let me wax nostalgic here for a moment…

I remember the day Squirt was born. I was 14. It was a planned home birth (yes, my Mom is a brave woman). Mimi was a nervous wreck. The other 6 of us were like, “What? It’s just another baby. No biggie.”

Ah, the innocence (or ignorance) of being 14.

I remember what I was wearing that day, even. A “nice” t-shirt with some classy, giant graphic phrase on the front, and some green double-knit shorts. Hey, it was 1993. Give me a break.

I remember holding that baby girl who had no name, the tiniest of all of us at just 6 pounds, thinking that I would be 30 when she turned 16.

30 was so far away. I would be old then. And I would have accomplished so many things. Because I had a list.

But now it’s here. I have accomplished many things, but not all of them were on my list. And not all of my list has been accomplished. Life kind of works that way.

I hope that Baby Sister’s life is as good as mine has been. And that she gets to accomplish all the stuff on her list, if she has one. If she doesn’t, I’m not really sure she’s related to me, and I might have to start one for her.