FCYU-Feature Story

Out of the Crib
I became a mother to my brother at age 7; it was too much

By Lynette

“Waah!” Donavan screamed. I was on my bed tossing and turning at 2 a.m., trying to figure out why my brand-new baby brother was crying so loud. And why did my foster mother put him in my room anyway? I had to wake up at 6:30 to get ready for school. I walked sleepily to his crib and said, “OK, baby, your big sister’s coming.”

I was 7 years old, taking care of a newborn. On my way out to get my foster mom, I stopped and looked down at him, so tiny, with the same big bright brown eyes as mine.

He looked up at me, with a red chubby face full of tears, and stopped crying. I felt an urge to pick him up and cradle him like I had seen mommies on TV do, but my arms were too short to reach into the crib. So I climbed inside and picked him up in my arms, rocking him back and forth.

Time stood perfectly still as I held my baby brother for the first time. I just kept looking at him and thinking, “So this is what being a big sister is like. I can’t believe I was jealous of you.”

It’s true, when my biological mother told me she was pregnant, I became outrageously jealous because I knew that I would no longer be the baby of the family. She was living in a shelter at the time and couldn’t take care of Donavan, so my foster mother took him in, since she already had my older brother Dennis and me.

His Other Mommy

Soon Donavan began to get fidgety and then I heard his stomach grumble. I realized my baby brother was hungry. He started to cry, and I joined him. It hurt knowing that he was hungry. I wished I could feed him Oreos and candy.

My crying stopped when I heard my foster mother’s footsteps. I knew that I’d get in trouble for being in my brother’s crib so I quickly climbed out and jumped into my bed, pretending to be asleep. My foster mother took Donavan out of his crib, fed him, and put him back. He didn’t immediately fall asleep and I didn’t either. I got up and watched him until he went to sleep. That’s how I fell asleep every night from then on, knowing that my baby brother was full.

A Big Role

As I grew older, my foster mother taught me how to take care of Donavan. I learned how to prepare his bottles, change his diaper, and hold him like a mother holds her own child. It was a big role to play as a little girl, but knowing how to take care of a baby made me feel very responsible. And I thought that maybe if I stepped in to care for my baby brother, my foster mother would see it as a favor. She was always arguing with Dennis and took out her crankiness on Donavan and me. I often worried, if she gets real mad at Dennis, will she wild out on us instead? I saw it as a trade: I kept Donavan out of the way, and she kept her temper with us.

When Donavan cried in the middle of the night, I got up to make him milk. Although I went to school every day tired as hell, I’d always look forward to seeing my baby brother’s toothless grin when I came back from school. When he first started walking, I was always one step behind him, making sure he didn’t fall.

First Words

On the day he turned 1 year old, we threw him a party. I was in the bathroom doing my hair, and I left Donavan in his crib sleeping. Then I heard him screaming. I was terrified. I ran back to my room as fast as I could and saw my brother on the floor. My foster mother came in and blamed me. She thought that I had dropped him. Donavan had a big knot on his head and all he kept doing was pointing to the crib, the floor, then his head. Then out of nowhere he got up, walked over to the dresser and climbed back into his crib. He was too big and too smart for the crib. Every night from then on, until he was about 4, I put him to sleep beside me in my bed.

I taught my brother a lot of things that my foster mother should’ve taught him. I taught him his first word and how to walk. He was becoming smarter and bigger every day. His first words were “Stop it!,” words I used to tell him all the time. We were in my godmother’s house and I kept bothering him by kissing him on his chubby cheeks and pinching him. He looked straight at me and said, “Top id ne-net.” I looked at him in shock and said, “Pookie, what did you just say?” He said it again. It was such an emotional moment hearing that my baby brother learned my name before everyone else’s.

Sick of the Shadow

But by the time I was a teenager, I was tired of playing the mommy role that my foster mother or real mother should’ve been playing for my baby brother. I started getting depressed and stopped caring about my life. I started hating school and stopped doing my homework. I felt trapped. I wondered if I had brought this on myself because I wanted to act like a responsible adult. But then I’d get angry and think that I deserved to be treated like a teenager and not somebody’s mother.

Every time I looked at my foster mother, I’d become irritated. After all, it was because of her that I had to spend so much time caring for my little brother. I wanted to hang out with my friends, go to the movies, get my hair and nails done, and look at cute boys. But that never happened for me. Every time I went outside, I had to take Donavan with me.

In the summer I used to take him to eat school lunch, and one day this lady walked up to me and asked, “Is he your son?” It angered me because I was only 13 and I didn’t want people thinking I was a fast little girl.

It had to stop! I couldn’t take Donavan being my shadow anymore. Although I loved him with all my heart, I hated having him around me so much. My older brother Dennis never had to take me everywhere he went, so how come I had to take Donavan everywhere I went?

A Different Lynette

Sometimes I’d be in my room, mad at the world, and I’d listen to Dennis and my foster mother argue and I’d wonder why I had to be in foster care. Why didn’t I have the “perfect” family? Why didn’t other children and teenagers have to care for their younger siblings as if they were their own children?

While I was taking care of my baby brother, no one was taking care of me. My father had moved on to his new girlfriend. My sister was in college. My real mother was missing at the time, and no one knew where she’d gone. My foster mother was so busy arguing with my big brother that she ignored me.

So many emotions ran though me like fire. I wanted to hate my real mother for giving birth to children she couldn’t care for. I wanted to hate my father for not taking us in himself. I even wanted to hate Dennis. He had always stood up for me, but this time, he didn’t. He just left our foster home at the age of 16, and never came back. That hurt me so much because I really looked up to Dennis. It made me feel angry and betrayed.

A different Lynette started coming out. Pretty soon I started hating my baby brother. I hit him every time he’d ask me to make him something. I didn’t know what came over me, but I sure as hell didn’t like it. I loved my baby brother with all my heart, and seeing that I made him hurt killed me inside.

Mothering for Me

Instead of my foster mother trying to help me through such a difficult time, she just nagged me every day. My godmother, Ms. B., was the only one who actually tried to help. I told her how I’d been tending to my baby brother’s needs but no one was tending to mine. I told her that I didn’t fall asleep at night until I made sure I fed and put my brother to bed, which sometimes took hours. I let out all the emotions I held deep inside of me. For the first time in a long time, I cried. My godmother comforted me and told me some advice that I still carry today.

She said, “Baby girl, you need to stop letting your foster mother take advantage of you and start speaking out to her. You can’t let her walk all over you like you ain’t got feelings. If you don’t start talking back to her, you’re gonna end up so miserable and depressed.” It felt good hearing someone finally give me advice.

With the help of Ms. B. and my social worker, Ms. Dana, I got the courage to speak honestly to my foster mother. I told her everything: the stress of having to be a big sister and mother to a baby and the joy and pride I felt when my baby brother would look into my eyes and say, “I wuv u Ne-net.” I told her how much I hated my life. I was a teenager who didn’t have freedom. She wouldn’t let me hang out with my friends; I couldn’t have a boyfriend; I couldn’t even go to parties or the movies. I told her she should trust me more.

I know that even though we have our differences, she really does mean well for me. I explained to her that I’m grateful that she took my brother and me into her house when no one else would, but that she hadn’t been doing her job as a foster mother. Sure she cooked and cleaned and bought us what we needed, but what about actually taking the time to get to know us? She didn’t know anything about me.

A Weight Lifted

I’d never seen her cry before that day. She explained to me how strict her grandfather was and how he raised her. She was the baby of the family, so her sisters were forced to take care of her. But I had to let her know that just because her sisters got stuck with her once in a while, that doesn’t really relate to what she’s been putting me through. I was a mommy at the age of 7, and I thought that she didn’t love me or care about me as she claimed. That day, she solemnly promised to start playing a mother role to Donavan and me.

It happened in baby steps, but she kept her promise. She no longer asked me to bathe Donavan. She stopped asking me to take him outside. Sometimes she’d still ask me to put him to bed, but I didn’t mind.

I really saw her progress when Donavan cried in the middle of the night and she said, “C’mon Papi! Don’t wake your sister, she’s sleeping. Let’s go to my room so you can fall asleep with me.” She thought I was sleeping, but I heard her and I started to cry. I never thought I’d hear the words, “Don’t wake your sister.” It was a very emotional moment for me. It wasn’t that long ago that I was telling him, “Shhh, Mommy’s sleeping!”

Now that I’m 16 and no longer have to be a mom for Donavan, I feel as though a whole bunch of weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m that teenager that I want to be. Although I still feel my foster mother doesn’t fully trust me, she gives me permission to go out with friends, go to parties, and get my nails and hair done.

I respect her more because not only is she playing her role as a mother to Donavan, she is also playing her role as a mother to me. She cooks for us every day. She took us to Puerto Rico and Disney World. And her family acknowledges Donavan and me as their little brother and sister. Now I know she loves us as if we were her own.

Donavan’s 8 now, and we argue and fight almost every day, but I love it. It reminds me of the big sister role that I play for him now. Not all brothers and sisters get along, and Donavan and I demonstrate that perfectly. But regardless of our constant conflicts over stupid things, one thing remains true: I love my little brother.

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