My Life Of My Brother Essay

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My brother is seven years younger to me. As a little girl, no one waited for him like I did. No one.. not even my poor mother who carried him for 9 months. Every time my mother came back from her regular checkups, I went straight to her bedroom and searched both sides of my mother. ‘Mommys always bring babies from the hospital,’ my little mind thought. I used to pace around my mother’s bed, I used to be in a constant state of worry - ‘Where is my brother?’ There were days I blamed my mother, ‘She must be late and they closed the hospital’ Maybe, she didn’t like the babies available. Ok, let’s wait till they update the stock! Trust me, it was very taxing to work through my emotions. But my worst memory of my kid brother popping in this world was when I saw my mother lying on the bed and a strange thought came to my mind - we kept new things in the storeroom adjacent to the bedroom and I thought, maybe, my mother kept the new baby on her woollen trunk. Oh boy! What if he falls off? My mother has no sense - New babies should be handled with care!... I thought. I ran into the storeroom and found nothing. I can’t tell you, how relieved I was. Thank God! But I gave a good stare to my mother as I passed by her that day. Days went by and mommy didn’t bring my brother home. I was disturbed, I wanted him to arrive before my birthday in December. I wanted to show him off to my friends. You see, I always had the sole ownership of everything new in my home. And, I loved to flaunt. The

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