The Story Continues

We were stuck together in this cold, but somewhat happy room for another day. We were the only ones in the hospital when the ball dropped for the first time for my little Brooke. It was 1992. Then, as always, they had the tradition of the fire works in Disney and my little baby’s eyes were just so fascinated by them; it was like she had ping-pong balls for eyes. She just stared and stared so intensely that I don’t think that a fire would unglue her eyes from that television. They were bright colors of red, blue, green, and white.  Brooke loved those fireworks. 

            We soon went to bed and before we knew it, we were at home. Home was a lovely word when you have felt like you were sick from all the germs in that hospital. But Brooke didn’t seem to have a problem with the germs, and all she did was sleep. We actually gave Brooke the nickname of Sleeping Beauty because of that.  She was such and easy baby, unlike my other two children. 

My first child, Brad, was more of the conservative, gentle spirited kind of guy. My mother would baby-sit him so, like any ordinary grandparent, she didn’t like to do many active things. We also told him that chocolate was bad, so he would not eat chocolate until the age of about thirteen because he thought he didn’t like it. But the truth is that my husband and I told him that it was bad, so he just never ate it, until he realized that it was bad for your heath not bad in taste. Blake, on the other hand was the wild child of the family. When I would come home from work he would run to me and stand in front of me and scream so hard that I think the neighbors could hear him. I would quickly have to run to the refrigerator and get him a cold bottle of milk, and then he would stop. But it wasn’t over; he would stand there in the middle of the floor and chug the entire bottle. And when he was done he didn’t hand me the bottle like a good little boy, but he threw it over his shoulder and continued on playing with Brad. I knew Brooke wouldn’t be like that. She would be this nice sweet little baby. It seemed that every move I made she would study intensely. She understood words that people used. It was a fun experience to watch her grow.

As she grew older, she began to start to talk and walk and look more and more like her dad and me.  She had blond hair, little wrists, long fingers, and the little mouth like me. She also had the beautiful nose, long legs, and the appetite from her father. It was almost like she was the perfect mix between the both of us. My first son, Brad, was more like my husband, and Blake was more like me, but Brooke was just a median. When she was with me she, would get “Oh, my goodness you look exactly like your mother”.  But when she was with her father she would get “Wow, you look just like your dad”.