My Baby Brother Comprehension
I was sick the day they brought Timothy home from the hospital. I heard voices, though, and decided to call downstairs for my mom. I shouted that I was not feeling well because I knew she would come put her hand on my head, and ask me if I needed some water. Even though I am eight years old, my mom's warm hand on my head still makes me feel better.
I didn't especially want to see Timothy, though. What was there to see? I had seen him the day before in the hospital and I was not thrilled.
"Mom!" I called again from bed. Where was she? She usually came right away when I needed her. Maybe she forgot about me now that she had Timothy.
Suddenly, I heard my dad's feet on the stairs. "Jason," he said."why don't you come downstairs?"
"I'm sick," I reminded him. "I need Mom to come up."
"She cannot come upstairs right now because she is tired. She is on the couch with Timothy. You're going to have to get used to someone else needing Mom sometimes."
Dad sounded tired and a little annoyed, but I didn't care. I didn't like what he had to say at all, so I decided that I would charge down those stairs and tell my mom what I thought of Timothy. I am her first son, after all. No one asked me if I wanted a baby brother.
I started down the stairs, stomping my feet extra loud. "Mom . . ." I started.
But when I walked into the living room I did not feel like yelling anymore. Mom was sitting on the couch with her head back and her eyes closed. She looked very tired. I sat down next to her and gave her a hug. I wanted to make her feel better.
"Mom?" I said softly. "Are you okay?"
She smiled then. It was a beautiful, warm smile. "I'm fine, sweetie. And look who I brought home to see you." She held out a little, warm bundle in a blanket. She pulled the blanket down a little so I could see his face.
And you know, he looked just like me. I smiled at him then, and I swear he smiled back. And guess what? I did not feel sick anymore.
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