The Heart of the Matter

Picture this. I’m six years old, wearing a minty pastel gingham dress with a shirred chest and embroidered bunnies. My hair is short and manageable and, despite often wearing my favorite pink bike shorts and trendy purple t-shirt clip, people still mistake me for a boy.

My chubby-cheeked brother, who just turned four, is wearing a matching gingham vest. We’re trying on our new outfits to make sure that they fit before Easter mass in a few short weeks.

I’m faced away from my mom and, as she ties the bow at my waist, she comments sweetly that the baby in her belly will be arriving soon. “Are you excited to have a little sister?”

I think about it for a moment, and I start crying.

A few months earlier, I had been excited for the baby. I first felt her kick when I read a book of winter poems to the growing baby inside the growing belly. I eagerly put together a stack of my favorite books to share when she arrived.

But today, the mood had shifted.

The thing is, I love Easter. My parents don’t typically keep desserts, candy, or sweet snacks in the house, but the Easter Bunny is one of those rare, sugar-bearing heroes who never fails to deliver my favorite treat – chocolate!

Today, I am convinced that this baby in my mommy’s belly is going to ruin my Easter. And I have good reason to be concerned.

You see, four years earlier, my dad dropped me off at my grandparents’ house on Easter morning. I put on a puppet show with my older cousin. We played with the plastic barn and farm animals, and then drove GI Joe around the house in his truck. We even splashed around in the backyard fountain and fed kibble to the catfish in the nearby lake. Every few minutes we asked, “Can we go on an Easter egg hunt?”

I was two-years-old and as impatient as one might expect. Yet, we waited and we waited and we waited.

Finally, my mom and dad arrived. And, finally, my cousin and I were sent out in search of those pastel canisters filled with yummy chocolates and valuable coins that could be traded for more chocolates!

When I arrived at my parents’ side with my filled straw basket, I noticed that they too had a new basket at their side. As I cracked open my first pastel pink egg, my mom introduced me to my new little brother. I looked up at the tiny pink baby and then down at the brown puddle spilling out of the little pink cup. I looked up at the baby and then down at the melted chocolate, and I hated my new baby brother.

A little girl who loves chocolate never forgets, so it was no surprise that I made the connection:

Easter + Baby = No Chocolate!

I pause the tears, hang my head, and innocently ask, “Mom, are the chocolates going to melt again when my baby sister comes?” She assured me, while holding back a smile, that my chocolates would be just fine. This baby was planning to arrive a few days after Easter.

It’s now Easter morning. My brother and I wore our fancy outfits to Easter mass. We then drove as a family to my grandparents’ house. I kept a close eye on my mom and dad to make sure they didn’t run off to go have the baby. And, after brunch, all the cousins spread out across the backyard in search of Easter eggs.

I’m now sitting beside my family with my little straw basket. I take note that Mom and Dad don’t have a baby basket this year. When I crack open my first pastel egg, there is a solid, foil-wrapped chocolate bunny inside. I look up at my parents and I smile. My baby sister might not be so bad after all.

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