Sable Monroe

When my mother was pregnant with my younger brother, I was excited.

I remember her telling me that when the baby was born, I would get to hold him. In my mind, a baby was like a doll. Something small and cute that I could play with. I was looking forward to it.

And at first, it felt like that.

She brought him home, and eventually she let me hold him. I remember feeling proud. Like I had been given something special.

But that didn’t last long.

Before I really understood what was happening, things started to change.

Holding the baby turned into helping with the baby.
Helping turned into responsibility.

I was feeding him.
Changing diapers.
Watching him.

And little by little, I stopped being just a child in the house.

At the same time, all the attention shifted to him.

I wasn’t the center of attention anymore.
I wasn’t even sure what my place was.

Looking back now, I can also see how complicated everything around his birth was.

My parents had an unstable relationship. They broke up and got back together often. During those breaks, both of them had other partners—and those weren’t hidden from me. I knew. I saw.

So when my brother was born, my father didn’t immediately connect with him. It took time. From what I understood, he wasn’t even sure at first if the baby was his.

There were times my mother would leave me home alone with the baby while she ran errands.

I was in single digits.

Not even ten years old.

And I was responsible for a baby.

There was even a time when both of my parents went out to a party and left me home overnight to take care of him.

At the time, I didn’t question it.

I just did what I was expected to do.

What I thought was going to be a baby I could hold and play with…

became the beginning of something else entirely.