My little brother is a father.
It is both weird and wonderful.
I remember when my mother was pregnant with him. I remember helping her tie her shoes or at least trying to because I was too little to actually do it, because her big pregant tummy prevented her from bending. I remember staying with the babysitter the night he was born. I remember waking up before my parents in the mornings and watching him sleep and wanting to touch him.
He was my friend at first. Then, for years, he was my pesky little brother. Then at some point, over the years, he became a source of never ending support and tireless inspiration, sometimes behaving like an older brother and I love him for it.
My mother always used to say,"Treat your brother nicely. One day he'll be bigger than you." The other thing she used to say is "Treat your brother nicely. One day he'll be your best friend." And you know what, she was right.
Now he has a baby of his own and I know he is going to be a great dad.