This blog was written by Marissa Bergen from, what she believes, is the perspective of her 11 year old son.
Hi I’m Jesse and I’m 11 years old. This is a picture of me when I was a baby. Cute little bugger wasn’t I? I guess it’s okay to say that because apparently everyone said that about me, plus they also commented on what a sweet, nice, well behaved baby I was.
Those were the good old days, just me and the parental units, hanging out, going places, buying toys.
Then one day my parents said they had to talk to me. They said I was going to be a big brother and they were telling me how wonderful it would be and how I would have someone looking up to me and all that. Yeah, whatever. I’m going to my room now and I’m gonna stay there…for the rest of my life.
Anyway, time goes by and soon enough they’re bringing my sister home from the hospital.
This is a picture of us from the early days. You see I’m smiling but if you look closely it is more like one of those crying on the inside, laughing on the outside, call for help kind of smiles.
Anyway, it didn’t take me long to figure out this chick was off her rocking horse.
For the first 3 years of her life all she would eat was macaroni and cheese and, oh yeah, dirt. Like she’s too good to put a carrot in her mouth but dirt is perfectly acceptable cuisine. I once saw her lick rain off a car.
And talk about drama queens. It’ s always whine, whine, whine, cry, cry, cry. I mean, like, you fall, you get hurt, you get up, you get over it, right? No need to make a federal case about it, you know what I mean?
But the worst of it is, she always wants to do everything I do and she likes to play with my toys and a lot of the time she breaks them.
I guess my mom kind of understands. She’s always saying stuff like, “Sorry we ruined your life but your sister loves you very much. She worships the ground you walk on.”
And I have to admit, she’s kind of right. Sometimes it is cool to be an older brother.
Just don’t tell THEM I said that.