I was 12, my parents had just divorced a year ago. I was still taking counseling, though I thought I didn't need it, and that the counselor at my elementary school was really nosy. On October 31, my mother found out she was pregnant. For the past 10 years it had just been me and my little brother. Now, there was going to be a new baby. My first thought was: "I hope it's not a girl." I enjoyed being the only girl in the family. I spent the whole pregnancy with my mother. Me and my mom shared a room, shared a bed those long months. I was there to hold back her hair while she puked. I was there to make sure the baby looked healthy in the ultrasounds. I was always there. 37 weeks later, I was pulled out of school early. My mom was in the hospital, she was in labor. I was there 37 weeks prior to this, one more night couldn't hurt. I remember when I had to go down three floors for something to eat, and when I came back up, I got shooed out of the room, while the doctor's gave my mother a shot in her back. I remember that this shot was supposed to numb her, but she still felt. I remember when I went to greet my aunt at the hospital doors, and when we came back up, mom was being rushed to a different room. I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life. Nobody told me a thing about what was happening. Five minutes later, a nurse wrapped a bracelet around my wrist, and I went to go see my mom. Apparently my mom needed a C-section, because the umbilical cord was wrapped around my new brother's neck three times. I saw my mom, she had stitches in her stomach, she was delirious. I was there all 37 weeks plus the 30 hours of labor. "What do you want your brother's name to be?" Mom asked me. "I can name him?" I asked. Mom nodded. Names ran through my mind. William, Daniel, Robert, Zachary, Austin, Shane. Then I began thinking of a song by the Jonas Brothers. A name blurted out of my mouth. "Nicholas!" I said. And I was the one who named my baby brother. I spent the rest of that day next to my mother, holding my new baby brother. I love him so much. He was absolutely beautiful, and perfect. He had so much potential. Two and a half years later, is now. Nicholas is still perfect, though he's a brat. But he always says things that make me love him more like: "I love you, Sissy." And he does things to make me love him more like, hugging me when I'm sad, and handing me the remote to the T.V. When he's older, and he has questions about things I can happily say: "I was there, always."