5:30 am – wake up time. I always end up at the bottom of the bed when I sleep. I’m not entirely sure how, though. I do a little stretch and a yawn, then I walk over to Mom and sit down by her to watch the morning news. Sometimes Dad is still here when we get up, but sometimes he’s already left for work. I hate not being able to see him before he leaves.
I make sure my oldest brother is up by 5:45 by tapping him until he’s out of bed. Then, Mom and I get my other brother up around 6 because his school starts later. He’s a couple years younger than the oldest brother, so he goes to middle school. That also makes him a little easier to mess with. I can reach his feet because they end up sticking out of the covers at the end of the bed. I’ll poke them and blow air on them to make him laugh to wake him up because he’s ticklish. Once he’s up, it’s breakfast time.
The kitchen is the my favorite part of the house Mom or Dad make breakfast for all of us, but I usually get something a little different. I always request chicken in mine. My brothers don’t seem to want the same, however. They must just have different tastes than me. Soon enough, everyone is packed and ready to go to school.
School days are the worst. I get so utterly bored, and I miss hanging out with my brothers. Throughout the day, I usually stare out the windows. This is my daydreaming time. This is when I like to think about things like what it would be like to be as tall as my eldest brother, or be able sing like my dad does. This continues on no matter where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing.
Eventually, I get to the cliche deep questions like ‘why am I different’ and ‘why am I treated differently than my brothers’. these questions have boggled me since I was little. Sometimes these questions make me depressed. I hate the idea that I’m different. I’ve never really come close to accepting it.
But by the time I get remotely close to an answer, we’re all back together at the house, and I am content again. I love being with my family — even when they try to snuggle me like I’m some teddy bear just because I’m the smallest one.
We all eat dinner, then usually I go for a walk with one or both of my brothers. Walks are the highlight of the day. We’re free to go wherever we want around the neighborhood and run as fast as we want to. I take great joy in running – especially because I can outpace my broth…
Sorry, where was I? I get distracted by pretty moving objects occasionally. Oh I remember now –
I love running mainly because I can outpace my brothers – I may be smaller than them, but my small mass manages to equate for better aerodynamics in this case. I run barefoot while my brothers wear shoes. I hate the idea of shoes. I like being able to feel the ground I’m walking on.
Soon enough, we’re back home – my brothers usually play on their computers, but I usually just watch TV with Mom. Ill sit with her on the two-cushion couch and watch everything from Grey’s Anatomy to SNL. Action scenes scare me a little bit though. But the one thing that scares me more than action scenes is the dreaded mailman.
Ooooooo how I hate that guy. He sneaks up to the door and just leaves these packages filled with sometimes unknown objects at my doorstep and glares at me like I’m crazy when I try to yell at him for leaving it outside where it could get stolen or rained on.
But anyway I’m getting side tracked. When I’m with my family, the people that care the most about me, I realize it doesn’t matter that I’m different. It doesn’t matter that I may be smaller, fluffier, or unable to stand on two legs most of the time. It doesn’t matter that I eat different food, or talk differently. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t have balls anymore. I’m still a part of the family, and I’m still loved. That’s what truly matters and that’s what brings me the most joy.
Now it’s time to go find my squeaky toy…