To my youngest sister Carrie, who turned 24 last week.

Carrie, I remember vividly when mom was pregnant with you. I remember mom and dad telling us we’d be getting a new brother or sister, and how happy they both were.

When Mom was pregnant with you, I was six and Mollie was four. Once a month, Mom would tell me to get the black book – I think it was one of her old nursing texts, but I’m not sure. All I know is I would run back to her bedroom, pull it off of her dresser, then run back into the living room and snuggle onto her lap while she sat on that orange chair we used to have. The book traced the your development month by month, so Mom would show me pictures of what you looked like at that time, read me the descriptions, and we’d talk about you growing away in her belly. So I sat beside you and talked to you long before you ever knew I existed. Weird, huh?

Dad just recently (re?)told me how you got your name. They went back and forth, over and over, tossing names around. I remember some of the debate. After weeks of this, Dad says he came home one night to find mom lying on their bed, a totally peaceful look on her face, and she told Dad she knew what your name would be. She said, “She’s Carrie,” and Dad said, “Okay,” and that was that. She may have looked blissed out, but I think Dad knew better than to disagree – mind made up.

I remember going to the hospital after you were born. I’d just seen E.T. in the movie theater, and since you were skinny and purple and wrinkled, I informed everyone that you looked like E.T. I also heard the nurse sat you on Mom’s stomach and you immediately peed on her, and I remember thinking that if there was anything funner than THAT, I sure didn’t know what it could be. World class comedy, kid.

I was jealous when you came home. I distinctly remember getting peeved at Beth Ann, who had come over to play with me but only wanted to hang around the stupid baby. When I said something, she very rationally retorted, “You have to understand, you get to see the baby all the time, but she is new to me and I want to play with her,” and she was right but STILL.

I got over it, though.

These days, we joke that you are my internet stalker – you check Cupcake Pajamas regularly, are usually the first to know I’ve updated, and you probably comment the most.

But it really is just a joke, and I will tell you why. We are so different, and we always have been. It’s no secret. And sometimes, those differences have meant that we didn’t understand each other, or didn’t get along very well, or worse, said really hateful things to each other.

But that hasn’t happened in a while, and I really hope that is because we are going beyond sister/stalker/whatever, and that we are becoming friends.

Either way, I’m glad you are around. So Happy Birthday, Dear Carrie, a few days late.

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