This is basically a rewrite of the currently unpublished original. Enjoy.
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YEAR 0
I was 7 1/2 pounds of raging fury, and I cried and screamed at anyone who tried to take me from my mother's arms.
I had been one with her for 9 months before, and I didn't plan on leaving any time soon.
No one was going to take her away from me.
YEAR 1
I didn't like my older sister from the moment I entered this world.
She was nothing like me, I could tell.
She would glare at me while mom wasn't looking and tease me behind her back.
And there was nothing I could do.
Yet.
YEAR 2
I was young and innocent then.
My older sister wanted to "play" with me in our backyard with our dogs that panted in the hot sun.
She managed to pull a huge shovel from our dusty garage.
She told me she was from the Disney movie Holes and demanded that I stand behind her.
The whole time, I was thinking that it was going to be okay, even though dad told her not to play with the big shovel.
I was only two, and she was six.
She did it on purpose, I know it.
She swung, and I was hit in the face with that stupid blade one good time, and she started crying.
But only because we couldn't go and get ice cream, not because I was bleeding on the ground.
The surgery was long, but I made it out alive, obviously.
After that, I made it my mission to let her know I never forgave her.
YEAR 3 and 4
After the "shovel incident" I don't remember much from my third or fourth year of life.
There's a hazy memory of a ladybug birthday cake and a party by the lake.
There was a treehouse my dad built for us all to play in, but I can't seem to recall much of anything.
And that sucks.
YEAR 5
The year when most kids enroll in public school.
Normal kids.
I definitely wasn't normal (but at the time I thought I was).
