“My mom is having a baby!” I announced to my English class with excitement. I am excited. I really am, but I’m not so sure that I will be for much longer. You see, having a baby in the house is hard work. Diapers, feeding, teething, sickness, naptime, teaching them to walk, talk, use the “potty” all cut into the time I have for myself.
“Don’t play your saxophone now, or you’ll wake up the baby!” I can hear it now, that nasal voice of my mother screaming to stop playing this, or learn this song, or clean this, or wash that. I don’t want to look at that side of the situation. I want to imagine life with a youngest sibling as a walk through a field of lilies already sprayed with pesticides, so there aren’t any bugs. And the smell is great!
Yeah.
Right.
I babysit my cousins all the time. Two one-year-olds and a three-year-old kind of give you a glimpse in a few hours what life will be like with a baby: stinky, loud, hectic, stressful, tiring, annoying, different. But, most of all, life with a baby in the house will be wonderful.
I can have someone who will listen whenever I need them. Someone who will take a dollar to do any of my chores. I can teach him or her music, and help them with all of their math homework. I can cook for them and cherish them and tell them how great they are when someone tells them otherwise. I can show them the world and be responsible for how they perceive it. The big-brotherly role I will play makes me want a child of my own one day.

I am excited. I can’t wait. I hope it’s a girl…