I grew up with brothers.
Two of them; they were a pair, born within minutes of each other. Their lives were purposeless until they were three when their mother gave birth to a bouncing beautiful baby girl.
Then they became united in grief for they were no longer the only children. Upon the night of my birth they rose their pudgy arms to the sky, pressed their fingers together and swore with toddler determination that they would be forever tied together in a mission to destroy me.
Well that’s how I remember it anyway…
Living with boys has always been a challenge for me, if I had my choice I would have been a lesbian. But my libido, on the rare occasion that it works (normally after reading fifty shades on the kindle pretending I am reading Tolstoy) seems to hanker after those who God blessed with an unattractive ‘extra’ bit.
Brothers were very little use to me when growing up. They tore heads off my babies, savagely mutilated Sindy and buried alive my Barbies. As I grew bosoms and discovered boys I stupidly hoped that having twin brothers older than me would give me access to top totty.
I was wrong.
It seemed that when my brothers bought their cool seventeen year old friends home their form of entertainment was to play a VHS from years before. This video was filmed in my first teenage year at Walt Disney land and involved me wearing an orphan Annie frock, having corkscrew style curls and NHS specs. The audio is me singing perfectly out of key and my vocal cords collapsing on the final high note of Tomorrow. It took years until I became immune to the sound of teenage boys falling on the floor laughing because of the sound of my voice.
So when I decided to have children I decided to have sisters. I made a deal with God at an early age and stayed away from all narcotics (almost – what’s legal in Amsterdam doesn’t count) on the basis that he would one day grant me girls..
I got my wish; I made sisters.
When BB went into spica I worried that both her brother and sister would resent everything they couldn’t do because of the cast.
Again my children astounded me.
Whilst at times they can make my ears bleed with their shouting and they can win Oscars for their ability for their dramatic skills never have they lashed out at their sister.
As BB tries to learn to master her legs it is her sister who hour after hour painstakingly holds her hand and teaches her how to walk. Twin girl sees the fear in her sisters eyes and never let’s go of the tiny little palm that grips hold tightly.
My heart is set to burst when I see the two of them slowly moving along, words of encouragement from my eldest girl evoking tears from my eyes.
When seeing me, again, dripping water down my cheeks, twin girl, the big sister merely stretches out her spare hand and squeezes my bigger palm in hers.
“Don’t worry mummy” she says with a confidence I can only dream of “she will do it on her own one day, until then I won’t let go”
Till that day comes I have the pleasure of watching my two girls walking hand in hand, side by side, big and small walking tall together.