Sister

Do you remember your very, very first memory? If you're lucky enough to have a very first memory, often times it's vague and fuzzy. It's hard to figure out whether or not it was it an actual memory or just a dream you had one night that you've mistaken for your first memory. Either way, this is the earliest memory I can recall having, everything before this moment I'm sure was just a lot of crying, eating, pooping and playing.

The day is September 30, 1987. I don't remember a lot about his day (come on, I was only three and a half!) but what I do remember is pretty magical. I remember being in Del Puerto Hospital- a tiny hospital in our hometown that sat right next to the little league baseball field. The hospital halls smelled of urine and baby powder and cleaning products, mostly because 90% of its inhabitants were elderly. That hospital doesn't exist anymore, another victim of the central valley's faulty economy. The building still exists, but I'm not sure what it is used for other than to be a sad reminder to passers-by that our city was once viable enough to sustain our own hospital. But I digress.

On this day the hospital was busy and bustling, with the late summer sun shining through the windows and the sound of baseball games carrying into the halls.

Since my mother was in the hospital about to have a baby and my dad was in the hospital about to deliver that baby (I know, crazy right? Don't worry, he's a doctor...) my grandfathers were left in charge of my brother and I, ages 3 and 5 respectively. My mom tells me that we came to the hospital that day mismatched, dirty, disheveled and barefoot. I don't remember those details, although I'm sure the grandpas let us run wild and gave us any and every type of soda and candy to pacify us.

I remember peeking into one window (or maybe somebody opened a door so we could peek in, I'm not sure) and seeing my mom on her hospital bed. She looked sweaty and tired. However, when she saw the two of us she immediately gave us her best mommy's-ok-and-lying-on-a-hospital-bed-sweating-with-nurses-hovering-around-me-is-perfectly-normal-and-there's-no-reason-to-panic-or-cry kind of smile. We both bought it.

The next thing I remember is going down a hallway that was nothing but windows on one side. We stopped in front of these windows and stood on our tip-toes to look through. I pulled myself up on the wooden handrail to see what was inside. And then I saw her. Right in front of me, wrapped tightly in a blanket with nothing but her swollen little face poking out, was my baby sister. Her face was bright red and her head was covered with thick, fluffy black hair, much like I’d imagine an Inuit baby in a papoose would look like.

I don't remember much else about that day. I can't remember if I really understood what was happening or that I had just earned my middle child status. If only I had known that my charmed life of having one sibling whom I adored had now been shattered by this attention-stealing porcelain-doll of a baby. If only I had known that this baby would grow to be one of the most adorable but easily the most whiney, self-assured toddlers in the history of the world. If only I knew that she'd go on to steal many minutes of camcorder face-time that were rightfully mine (we have the VHS tapes to prove it). If only I had known that she'd live through her bowl-cut, tomboy, bushy-eyebrows, braces & bangs stages and come out on the other side stunningly beautiful. If only I had known that she'd become one of my greatest friends, the person I always describe to people who don’t know her by saying, "She's like me...only skinnier and a lot sweeter."

I don't think my little self could have possibly comprehended the enormity of that moment of seeing Leslie for the first time. I do now. And that makes me treasure my very first memory even more.