Many moons ago and yesterday, my mom and dad sat my nearly 10-year-old self down to break some news. It seems they were expecting a baby. A tiny morsel of love and joy that would grow in mommy’s belly for nine entire months and then come and live in my house. I was over the moon. Sure, I had a brother who I really liked and who left my stuff alone. Another one of those could be cool, I thought.  A girl baby never really entered my mind as I was too enamored with the idea of what was going on inside my mom as she grew what I was sure, was my new brother. Wasn’t sure why we needed a new one – I liked the one I had just fine.

Being nearly 10 – I was, believe it or not – on the cusp of womanhood in my innocent mind. Yet, I had zero idea of what happened to a mommy as the baby grew. I watched in fascination and horror as the baby and mom’s belly started to grow and then kick. Mom even let me go to an appointment to ask my two million questions to the very patient doctor. I think it was for her sanity. He gave me a super cool book with pictures of all stages of child development. I can still feel the book in my hands and see the pictures in full color in front of me. I stared at that book for hours fascinated with the creation of life.

Before long, the day came. The baby was a bit stubborn so they scheduled mom for what was called an induction. Sounded like a ceremony to me. I thought, “what a cool way to come into the world. To be induced.” I know better now having been on the mom end of that joy. As luck would have it, I was home with a flu the day of the induction ceremony. My brother was shipped off to Kindergarten and grandma and grandpa came to wait with me. Mom and dad had left at the wee hours of the morning for the ceremony that would deliver the baby. I was mad I couldn’t go. I had always behaved in places I had to be quiet, and I wasn’t that sick.  I was beside myself with impatience, and annoyed at being left behind.  I remember sitting on the couch reading, watching TV and driving grandma bonkers. I can still picture the way the room was laid out; the couch I was sprawled on at the back of the room, the half wall,  and the yellow phone on the wall that FINALLY screamed its’ ring just before lunch 40 years ago today.

“You have a new sister,” Grandma shouted with joy. I was tickled pink, over the moon and nervous all at the same time. I had never entertained that the one being the double of the gender was not my brother, but me. What if she didn’t like me? What if she took all of mommy and daddy’s attention, what if, what if, what if…?

The cool part? My birthday was – and is – the next day. We are only one day apart! Okay, really 9 years and 364 days apart, but that doesn’t matter today since she is, you know , 40!!!! I can still see the soda fountain glass full of flowers that my dad had sent to me from “your new sister, Amanda” wishing me a Happy Birthday. What a thoughtful way to let me know I was still important, and my birthday would not be forgotten. A big deal for this 10-year-old used to being the center of attention. I was what my mom used to call strong spirited.

Fast forward several years. Admittedly, the few years we lived in the house together were a bit rocky. I was a teenager when she was three and sharing my room. My mom and I had a classic mom/daughter relationship; the one you read about in the horror teenager movies, which resulted in me moving out when she was 8 – a welcome relief for all. I was married when she was but 15 and a mom before she was 18. We never really had a chance to know each other, but I loved her to bits from a distance – never really sure where our relationship was meant to live. Mom knew, and did her best to bring Mandi and I closer as she and I grew closer in understanding with age, and she and Mandi grew further apart. I became a voice of reason; perhaps, or a safe port in the storm of teenagers and their moms. Having lived it, I was happy to share my home with both my mom and my sister on afternoons when they needed a break from each other. My babies were a great excuse to visit me, and I welcomed the help.

By the time Mandi was 25 and married much life had occurred, and we had become dear friends. We had survived our mom’s very unexpected death from brain cancer. We shared the joys of pregnancy and motherhood, we bought homes a mere mile apart, and we became gloriously entwined in common feelings, thought and shared experiences from the view of a decade apart. Today, she is one of my very best friends. I think of – and often talk to her – daily. We share life and love and pain and fear. We have grown closer with each passing year. We share the loss of our mom, our changing relationships with our extended families, and our experiences of motherhood. In short, we share our lives.

Today, as she turns the big 4-0, 9 years and 364 days after me, I cannot even begin to imagine my life without her beside me.   I now know our mom and dad surely knew what they were doing bringing me a sister later in my life, and I have no doubt our mom is eating cake and throwing a party in Heaven. Mom always loved an excuse for a party and today she has the best one of all – our Amanda Jane!

Happy Birthday dear girl! Love you to the moon and back!!