As thumbing through pictures of my little sister made me a bit nostalgic, I’m remembering that yesterday was her fifth wedding anniversary. No one has a video of the speech I delivered, so I thought I’d share it here. I am beyond proud of my sister, who was wise enough to get everything right. 
August 22, 2015
Parents, want to freak out your teenagers? Wait’ll they think they’re cooler than John and George resurrected at a Beatles reunion tour, then tell them you’re going to have another baby.
I was fifteen when my parents dropped that little bomb. At first I thought they were kidding. After all, these were the same practical jokers who kept insisting that I couldn’t get my license until I proved my responsibility.
Next came the bewilderment. After all, how was it scientifically possible for a thirty-seven-year-old woman to reproduce?
As the months ticked on and my mom got bigger and rounder, I started to accept that I would lose my reign as baby of the family. Besides, I’d always wanted a little brother.
On August 22, 1988, exactly twenty-seven years ago today, my parents announced it was time to go to the hospital. And for twenty grueling hours, while my mom was getting waited on hand and foot, nurses feeding her grapes and morphine cocktails–whatever it was I imagined ladies did in the delivery room—I was stuck in the waiting room watching a Growing Pains marathon, a button reading “I’m the big kid now” firmly affixed to my shirt.
When my dad finally called me into the delivery room—they say a newborn can see only eight inches in front of them, but I don’t believe it. Because when I laid eyes on Chelsea for the very first time—and let me tell you, she looks a hell of a lot better today than she did at that moment—we locked gazes–and I swear I heard her say, “OK, give it to me straight. What am I in for?”
Over the years, I came to enjoy having a little sister. The best part was the outings, where together we’d count the old ladies who shook their heads and grumbled about unwed teenage moms. I taught her how to put on makeup, the lyrical wisdom of Kurt Cobain, how to properly squish a cat’s paw (Mr. Beast has yet to thank me for that), and with the help of Cindy, I broke in and thoroughly exhausted our parents (and by the way, you have us to thank for getting your license at sixteen instead of seventeen years, nine months and six days).
My favorite full-circle moment came when I was in the delivery room at thirty-seven years old giving birth to my third child (for those of you who haven’t figured it out, moms have a special deal worked out with karma), and who there waiting on me hand and foot, feeding me grapes and morphine cocktails–but Chelsea. Since then, she has come to be known as “Auntie Che Che” to six lucky nieces and nephews, all of whom would agree she takes her auntie role very seriously.
Of all the gifts my little sister has brought to my life, the greatest one is this: Particularly on those days that I’m twenty minutes late for an appointment and have yet to strap all three kids in the backseat, and one of them is whining because the other’s arm is on her armrest, and yet another is crying because I can’t take the time to strap Blankie Bunny into the car seat—I pause for a moment. And I remember how one minute my baby sister was born, and the next minute, faster than my Aquanet lost its grip, she transformed into someone way cooler, smarter, braver and with way more fashion sense than I could every dream of having. And I remind myself that the next time I blink, I’ll find myself searching for the words on my own children’s wedding days.
And so, to Chelsea I would like to say, thank you for the dress rehearsal. Thank you for being my baby sister. And thank you for finally giving me the little brother I’ve always wanted.
Congratulations Chelsea and Justin!