It was a clear brisk Friday afternoon and the small white fluffy clouds covered the sun as the trees blew ever so gracefully.
Looking out the window of Community Hospital at 11:38 on January 15, 1999, I couldn't wait to hold my beautiful baby sister of 5.2 ounces and twenty and a half inches long. As the nurse waltzed into the room holding my sister, my mom waited impatiently to hold Kristin, as did the others who filled the room. Looking around I could tell how excited everyone was by the looks on their faces. As much as I knew my fourteen years of being the baby and the center of attention had now vanished like a thief in the night, I still wanted to hold Kristin. I wanted her and I wanted her now. Hurrying over to get her, but carefully taking her from my mother's pale white arms, I held her tightly. All bundled up like a third grader walking to school on a foggy December morning, Kristin Abrielle Robins looked up at me with her deep, grayish brown eyes. I looked back at her and my eyes began to water. "You are the most precious gift in the world," I whispered gently in her ear. Her hands were as soft as a baby's bottom and so tiny. I held them feeling assured that she was what I was missing in my life.
Now that she is three years old and growing up so fast, I know that I am a role model for her and my main job is now not to change filthy diapers, but to be a good example. She is like a naive freshman girl following the heels of a cute, dumb, senior football player. Sometimes I wonder to myself if she videotapes me and reenacts my everyday living! Every move I make she is my shadow making the same move. Every word I say she is there repeating me. I just simply look at her with a big sparkling smile and as embarrassing as it may seem, actually think of it as quite flattering.
As much as I love Kristin and admire her dearly, I must say that it certainly is a difficult responsibility.
