When I was six years old, my mom had a baby. As she was in the delivery room, I sat in the waiting room with my grandparents and ate chicken nuggets and prayed (yes, on my knees) for it to “please, please, please be a girl.”
And God said, you got it, sister.
This is Natalie.
She was the cutest baby. I thought she was mine to play with. I would dress her up in her cutest outfits and pose the couch pillows in their cutest poses and take pictures on Kodak cameras. I would snuggle with her and feed her and try really hard to be in the home videos my father took of her but if you watch those, you hear a lot of “chelsie, i’m trying to get the baby MOVE.”
She’s almost 16 now, which means I’m really old. She is a funny kid, and she has an innocence about her that I hope never leaves her. She plays basketball, and dances (beautifully) and is trying to be a good driver (hopefully). She wants to be an eye doctor and she is like the child whisperer — kids love her.
She likes to send me pictures like this, with no words attached. She also likes no talking in the mornings and only her iPod to make any noise until she’s “awake”. She is a little tiny nugget that I still wish I could dress up and take Kodak pictures of, but I can’t, because she’d tell me how dumb I am.
I’m grateful, this holiday season, for my sister. I spent more time around her than usual this past week and she is a good person. She has a good heart and I hope, with my whole heart, that she continues to carry her innocent comments and big heart with her as she grows up.
Picture this: a true, tangible, living, breathing, answered prayer from God.