Not so baby any more.....!

'We're thinking of calling her Fleur,' they'd said. In all the weeks preceding this announcement she'd been Florence. Or George, as the parents decided they wanted to be surprised as they were when I was born. Fleur seemed rather beautiful and I was immediately on board (even though I had originally misheard 'fur'...). 

It had never really sunk in properly that a baby was actually on the way. I was in constant awe of the hugeness of mum's bump; I listened to the thumps within and felt the movements beneath my hands. I would say 'my mummy is going to have a baby!' in the 'news' portion of the morning carpet time in reception class, but still it wasn't registering that I was about to be an older sister. 

A big sis. I'd always wanted one, for most of the 5 years of my life, but funnily enough I'd never gotten one. When that role fell upon me, though, I was determined to take it on immediately and be the best I could be. 

I remember so clearly the day my dad broke all the rules and just walked into my school playground at break time, interrupting me as I play-acted Peter Pan with my pals; he had to explain himself to the dinner ladies and once he had he leant in and grinned at me, said 'do you want to come and meet your baby sister?'

I squealed and hugged him, and we raced to the hospital where my dear mama (knackered out but still fresh-faced and fabulous) waited with this new bundle of fluffiness in her arms. I sat carefully next to the bed, in the sticky plastic/leather chair, and shyly took this thing from her. This cute little thing. So tiny. 

It's safe to say I became obsessed immediately. Every day for the next few years I was sitting staring at her, cooing into her pram and giggling while playing with her teeny fingers. I let her blow out my birthday cake candles with me. I'd rush straight to her side when I got home from stupid boring school. 

I'm told her first smile was for me. 

I frequently could be found in her little bedroom in the morning, sitting in her cot chatting to her or reading her a story. I would joke as much as possible - I loved hearing those giggles. This bedroom had walls partially coated with Hey Diddle Diddle wallpaper with pictures of a dish running away with a spoon, a cow jumping over the moon...now a good 80% of the walls are covered in Taylor Swift printouts and magazine shoots. 

Yes, I have tried my best over the years to be a good big sis. A totally cool and down-to-earth big sis. A gently guiding big sis, helping the duckling spread her wings and fly places (with a tag on her ankle so I can track her, of course). I think I've done alright. I'm nowhere near done yet, of course, but when the little one reaches legal drinking age and is having driving lessons and doing A Levels...my hands-on duties have diminished ever so slightly, but my heart is still in it and I am always here - in my bedroom, usually, or up in London but just a text away. 

I'm still gonna sister the heck out of you, kiddo. 

Happy 18th, Floop. Please understand that although you are now a good few inches taller than me, in my head you're still a baby and I will protect and love you as such forever. xo