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My Life With My Mother Essay

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On September 23, 2004 a healthy baby boy was brought into the world. The doctor sporting a snow-white lab coat with a blue collared shirt exclaims to my mother, “congratulations a beautiful baby boy.” I had a brother now, someone I could spend time with, someone to bond with. I sat next to my father as my mother corralled the newly born child within her arms. “What’s his name?” I enthusiastically asked my father. My dad pronounced, “his name is Joey, and he is your new baby brother.” For nine months I watched my mother’s abdomen gradually increase in diameter. I was seven years old at the time, and until this point an only child. I had cousins and friends around the neighborhood to interact with, but I was envious of my peers who had the benefit of having a sibling. Someone to love and be loved by unconditionally, someone that will look up to you and bond with you. Before I even knew my mother was pregnant she would ask, “Adam do you want a little brother or a little sister?” “A brother!” I would respond with alacrity. I thought I could relate better with someone that was the same gender as me. As time passed, I noticed my mother’s abdomen getting bigger, I remember it looking like she had a small ball tucked into her shirt. I had seen other women with a similar abdomen situation; however, at seven years old I was uneducated on the process of childbirth. At this point I thought babies were purchased, like a product at the supermarket. I was enlightened on afternoon, about

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