On 4th September, my first baby crossed a milestone. He left his twenties behind and entered the big 3-0.
No. I'm not talking about the EO.
I'm talking about my 'Baby' Bro.
Now while the bad rhyming was completely unintentional -- but once I realised that it was happening, I just went with it -- the sentiment is 100% big sisterly and true.
My baby brother; my source of wide-eyed wonder and delight; my first, biggest fan; my comfort zone...is thirty years old. The mere thought of it just boggles the mind.
Once again, I lament the geographical distance; that he is so far away from me/us. For twelve years now, he's been celebrating his birthday away from family, which means he's missed, or rather we've missed, quite a few milestone birthdays of his...18th, 20th and now, 30th. There's something rather heart-breakingly sad about watching an adored and once-upon-a-time-totally-doted-upon younger sibling, grow up and become a man, far away from you.
And what a terrible 30th year this is...minus one of our parents.
We all know that this time is an eventuality in our lives, but there's such a heaven-and-hell difference in the abstract concept and the actual reality of it.
But knowing the kind of person that Daddy Dearest was, I'm sure he spent the 4th popping open a bottle of champagne, pouring out a few pegs for his new Friends, and smiling down gently upon his one and only son.
Happy birthday, baby Bro. A sucky year for all of us, my pet. Next year, may you get the happiness that you so richly deserve.