When I was five my mom was pregnant with a baby boy. When I found out, I was not happy. I wanted to be the youngest forever and I did NOT want a little brother.
"But you're going to love having a little brother to play with and take care of," my mom kept telling me. "And he's going to be so cute!" She sounded so excited, but I was still skeptical.
But then the baby was born. "Okay, he is pretty cute," I admitted. And everything was fine. For a while...
As I got used to having a brother, I started getting jealous of the attention he was getting. "Mom, he's just a baby, there's nothing special about him,I'd try to explain, but she just told me that he was special and I would understand in time.
For a while, I wasn't very nice to him. I didn't play with him or help take care of him. I tried to ignore his existence, but one day he was right next to me and he started crying. I looked at him and I suddenly felt really bad. He was just a baby and hadn't done anything to deserve how I'd been treating him I picked him up and started to play with him, and discovered that I enjoyed playing with him!
From then on my brother and I have been best friends. We spend so much time together, and I've had so much fun watching him grow up. I've always regretted treating him that way, however. I could never quite get over the fact that I refused to acknowledge his existence and if I did it was to pinch him or take away one of his toy. But it's in the past and I'm trying to leave it behind me.