So my friend's sister had a baby today. A little 7 pound, 7 ounce bundle of joy, I imagine. And the best part? The baby is named after my friend (the sister). It got me thinking about my own sister, and if, one day, I would name my own child after her. And, shockingly (or maybe not?), I would - the child's middle name, of course.
Blogworld, meet my sister: Amber. Age 25. As opposite of me as day is to night. This begs the question: does "Amber" fit in with my dream names? Natalie Amber. Ashlee Amber. Emily Amber. Sure, I could live with those. Let's just hope I don't marry an Adams, or little Ashlee Amber Adams will live a life of Triple A jokes. Or worse: Emily Amber Adams - EAA. (All of you flight enthusiasts might enjoy this one, but probabaly not a 4-year-old girl.)
But then I took a step back and thought, whoa: when did I stop loathing my older sister and decide to name an (unconceived) child after her? (OK, loathing is harsh, but you can relate to the "sisterly fueds" of adolescence). It was just yesterday, wasn't it, that she scribbled red crayon all over a picture I colored for Mom just to spite me? And it wasn't long ago that I used a bald Cabbage Patch Doll as a bludgeoning tool, right? (Purely in self defense). Now I know it was recently that we stopped speaking for months over broken trust and hurtful words (like six-months-ago-recent).
But wasn't it also just last night that she called me, chattering with excitement, because she got Gavin DeGraw (one of my absolute favorites) to say hello to me on camera during an autograph session? (Even though she hadn't hit "record"). And just last week that we sat in the backseat of Mom and Dad's car, snickering over a dispute we were having with Mom about her sense of travel distance to Grandma's? (Amber and I were allies, of course). And on my last birthday, freshly wounded from a bad breakup, didn't she make a Build-A-Bear especially for me to lift my shattered spirits, and travel all the way to Milwaukee to spend girl time with me and my closest girl friends?
The point is, on the outside these all appear to be such trivial moments. But to a sister, there's a deeper meaning. Sisters aren't just friends. When friends fight, it's often make or break. When sisters fight, there's no changing that next holiday, when you both go home, the other is going to be there - you can't write her off. Nor do you want to. And you can't avoid her - no matter how hard you try. Mom instigates.
Even though it seems like two days ago my sister called me a "whore" when we were kids (I think she just learned the word, and in her defense, I don't think she knew what it meant), it seems even more recent that we were little girls in our childhood bedrooms, tapping on the wall, waking each other up to talk. Somewhere in between we crossed the line that said we were to be more than relatives and closer to soul mates.
And although I'm still going to fly off the deep end next time she spills my "sister-entrusted" secrets to Mom, I can likely guarantee when the day comes I have a daughter (oh please, oh please, oh please let me have a girl one day), that middle initial will be "A."