February 1st, 2007. Florescent lights. Pre-packaged, frozen food. Eerie shades of white, blue, and grey. On February 1st, 2007, my baby sister was born.

I can’t be expected to remember when my parents revealed to me that they were having a baby. I was extremely happy, and remember telling all of my friends that I would be a big sister. People who had younger siblings told me that she might get annoying or irritating. But I didn’t care; I had my fill of lonely playtimes and was ready for a change.

I don’t recall much about those nine months, most likely because I was 5 years old. Although I do remember my mother’s stomach. All it got was bigger and bigger and bigger, and seemingly my young hands getting smaller and smaller and smaller.

I remember leaving school early one day. That day, we were going to find out the sex of the baby. I remember asking repeatedly whether my baby sibling was a boy or a girl, and not being able to sit still. Every ten seconds I kept declaring whether it was a boy or a girl as if I had the slightest idea of how to tell. Eventually, after what I would have called torture, the doctor announced that I was going to have a baby sister.

Shortly thereafter, my mother, father, and I attended classes at the hospital. I imagine my parents went to birthing classes, while I went to sibling classes. To be honest, the class was extremely creepy. The bland colors of the hospital. A strange scent of artificial fruit. The baby dolls that stared an unblinking eye. The overly enthusiastic instructional video. The whole experience was creepy. And yet, my parents left me there.

Near the end of January, my grandmother, grandfather, and great-aunt visited us. They stayed at our house for a few weeks and it was exciting. It was like a super-sleepover.

One Thursday morning, my father, grandparents, great-aunt, mother, her swollen belly, and I packed our bags and took the train to George Washington University Hospital. My grandmother and great aunt’s chatter filled the room. The click of my grandfather’s camera. My never-ending blabber. “I’m hungry”, “I’m bored”, “When’s the baby coming,” “What’s her name going to be,” “Where do babies come from?” I was thrilled and timid at the same time.

“Can we go for a walk?” Greasy cafeteria pizza and soft-scented gift shop flowers. Then we march back to the cell in a single-file line. A hospital turned prison. I was prisoner 24601.

And then came parole. Also known as 1:00pm. On Thursday, February 1st, 2007 at about 1:00pm, my baby sister was born. Warm little hands and feet, soft to the touch. Crying and giggles, and the soothing scent of baby products and toothless smiles. My living, breathing baby sister.

My family gathered in a corner. At the moment, we were complete. “What’s her name?” I ask in my high-pitched voice. “We want you to chose.” My father said softly. “We were thinking either Nina or Maura,” said my mother. After a few minutes of my deep thinking, I chose the first and easiest to say.

“Everyone,” my father said. “We want you to meet Nina Cecilia” finished my mother. Many hours of smiles and cooing came. Of course, I was bored. I mean seriously, people! You’re going to have years to do that! What about me?

But the worst was yet to come. I was neglected by my parents at all times except in the morning and at dinner with the exceptions of a few short conversations. This lasted for weeks, months, even years! Seven years later, the effect of a new child is just now wearing off, and I’m getting attention. That’s spectacular because I thought they were beginning to forget that I even existed. Now, we are still a family of four and Nina and I have a typical, argumentative sibling-ship. But what can I do? I guess only time will tell.