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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 344


I had been learning my whole education about sharing. It was a concept that I had been taught about endlessly in preschool, and kindergarten, and the first grade, but it wasn’t until the second grade when I really knew its true meaning. That preceding summer, my parents had brought home a pink baby carrier, otherwise known as my little sister, Vivienne. She crawled and cried and she occasionally would grin up at me as if I had told her a funny joke, but then I was unfortunately expected to share with her. Not only did she eventually have full access to all of my toys, my room, and my dog, but she also had her solid share of my parents' love and time. The time and love that once belonged to me. As a seven-year-old, I believed that I couldn’t have faced a greater challenge.

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