Let me give you a little history of my beginning...

I was the third of four children, with two older brothers and a younger sister. My younger sister, who I will call *Cindy, is almost five years my junior so we never hung out together and did 'sister' stuff. I was more like her surrogate mother. My oldest brother who I will call *Greg was the 'chosen son'. Greg was my mothers heart and joy. He could do not wrong in her eyes, even when he was obviously doing wrong in other peoples eyes. My other brother, the one born between me and Greg, who I will call *Peter was not the chosen one in my mothers eye's but he was born on my fathers birthday so he had a special place in my fathers heart. Then there was me, born the third child in three years. This meant my mother had a lot on her plate. Taking care of two babies was hard enough, but now she had a third one. Fortunately for her I was not a demanding baby. According to her, I did not cry or fuss and need her attention. Apparently that is why I didn't get any attention.

From as far back as I can remember, my mother made it well known that I was an 'accident'. The unplanned one that ruined her life and burdened her with triple the work. Peter was also an accident. Although, as children, we didn't know what an 'accident' was, we certainly understood it to be something bad. It served as her excuse to not give us as much love and attention as Greg, the chosen one received. Fortunately for Peter, he was close enough in age to Greg that he received the same toys, chores, & freedoms as Greg received. I on the other hand was a girl, so everything was different for me.

Then along comes my baby sister Cindy when I was about 4-1/2 years old. She was the Special Baby. Although I had not yet even started kindergarten, my mother was feeling the urge to have another baby. She and my father discussed having another baby and my father strongly objected. But my mother gets what she wants, no matter what. So she 'accidentally on purpose' got pregnant. My father was very upset but he didn't remain that way for long because he always wanted my mother to be happy and being pregnant again seem to make her happy.

The lack of love and attention that I had received up until this moment was now amplified. Cindy was the adorable baby girl that my mother always wanted. She even looked like my mother in hair & eye color, where I did not have hair OR eyes that matched either of my parents. My mother doted on her, dressed her up in cute outfits, showed her off to people, filled the family album with massive numbers of pictures of her and generally forgot about me. (Note: I've located approximately 4 pictures of myself before the age of 5, and even in two of those, I am an 'extra' or a 'prop' in my sisters photos.)

My birthday is in December and Cindy was born in June, so when my 5th birthday rolled around my mother decided to give Cindy a half-birthday. Just so you know...up until this 5th birthday I never had birthday party. Not even a cake! My mother claimed that she was too busy taking care of three babies and my birthday was so close to Christmas that she just didn't have time or energy for a birthday party for me. My younger cousin's birthday was the day before mine so my mother would tell me that I could have cake and have fun at her birthday party. So that is what my birthday party consisted of, having cake at my cousin's party and watching her open gifts. Then we would return home and I would get to pick one gift from under the tree to open for my birthday. But now that Cindy was here (at 6 months old) she got a present too as her 'half-birthday' gift. Then Greg would start crying and carrying on that he didn't get a gift, so my mom would let my brothers have a gift too. Nice birthday, way to make me feel special.

When my sixth birthday came around I was in kindergarten. I was so anxious for the Christmas break to begin because it started on my birthday. I remember fidgeting in my seat on the school bus as we rode home. I got off the bus at the end of our street and I ran all the way home. When I opened the front door I could see my mother in the kitchen. She was mixing up something in a large bowl. "Oh that must be my birthday cake!" I thought to myself. I ran to the kitchen and tried to peek in the bowl but the counter was too high. I asked mom excitedly if that was my birthday cake she was mixing. She said, "No, I am making dinner." I didn't believe her, I knew it had to be my birthday cake and she just wanted it to be a surprise. "Yes it is!" I said in a cheerful way as I kept jumping up to see in the bowl. She again said that no it wasn't, but still I did not believe her so I climbed up into a chair near the counter and looked in the bowl... to my dismay, it was cornmeal. She was making corn bread for dinner. My heart nearly broke at that moment. I asked her why wasn't I going to get a birthday cake. She said, "After dinner we are going to your cousins house and you can have some of her birthday cake." Now my heart broke in two.

My mother never made me a birthday cake, not even once in my entire life. But that was not the case for my baby sister Cindy. She not only got a birthday cake, she got a party too with balloons, decorations, hats, the works. Starting when she was just 1 year old. My brothers each got birthday cakes and sometimes even a party too. When I was a teenager I baked my own cake a few times. Years later, when I was a mother myself, my daughters helped me bake a cake for my birthday. I received my first birthday cake when I was 29 years old. It was a surprise gift from my step-mother who knew about my childhood. It still brings tears to my eyes to reflect on that day. She made the most elaborate birthday cake I had ever seen. It had a Barbie doll in the center and the cake itself was made to look like a fancy ball gown on the Barbie doll.

So this was just the beginning of my life. This one blog post would be the length of a book if I told you my entire story so I am going to just stop here and slowly unfold the story in future posts. Besides, I don't think I am emotionally strong enough to re-live anymore than this right now. The memories and pain that are brought to the surface with just this very brief summary of my beginning will take some time for my conscious-self to absorb. I hope you will please join me on this journey to understanding it all and finding some peace in my life.



*You may have noticed that the names I use for my siblings are from the Brady Bunch, it is not by mistake. I wanted to protect their identity, and I grew up on the Brady Bunch.

© 2009-2010 I'm a Pollyanna All Rights Reserved

No part of this blog may be copied for ANY purpose, without my express written permission.