A Cuddle Monster for the Day

My big, little brother, all one hundred and forty pounds of him, decided to sit on me as I was talking to my stepfather this morning.  Now, this might not seem like anything special to anyone, but when your brother is turning fifteen, you learn very quickly that warm and fuzzy instances do not happen often anymore, especially not those involving him sitting in your lap.  So, still wearing my wonderful flannal pyjamas, I placed my ear against his seemingly immense back, closed my eyes and enjoyed every millisecond, smiling a little sleepily because it was rather early while his now super-sized frame squashed my relatively small stature.  As I hugged him and thought about how big he has gotten, I wondered to myself if and when these short intervals of ours would sadly come to an end.
Well, today was an exception - I got to cuddle with my baby brother twice.  And to what do I owe this lucky circumstance?  Not sure really!  I was just sitting on my parents' leather sofa, a big furry blanket wrapped around me and Patou decided to sit down next to me and drop his head on my shoulder.  He placed his feet next to mine on the foot rest, leaned into me and we watched some television together while making small talk.  His dirty blonde hair was a little rough next to my soft cheek, the blanket was so warm and comforting and I was very content to just sit with him like that for a little while. 
These kind of moments are sort of bittersweet for me because I often find myself thinking of similar times with him as we were growing up.  I did not even want a little brother to be quite frank!  I had been an only child until the age of twelve and I was very happy with my familial status until my mother and stepfather decided that they wanted to have a child together.  I remember that phonecall very distinctly when my mother announced to me that she was pregnant - I told her very honestly that I had never asked for a sibling and that I certainly did not want one now.  So, not only was I getting a half brother, but I was also getting a step brother in the mix because my stepfather was already a father to Tintin;  I went from being the spoiled only child to having two younger brothers... and I was not happy about that.
Thus, when I first came to visit my mom after she had given birth to my new little brother, which was around Christmas time, I remember being determined to remain as grumpy and miserable as possible;  I was also not going to have anything to do with this entity that had entered so rudely into my world.
That only lasted a few days.  One night, my mother asked me if I wanted to feed TicTic his last bottle before putting him to bed and I had reluctantly agreed to do so.  I therefore plumped myself down on the sofa while my mother brought my once tiny brother to me and showed me how to hold him.  At first, I felt strange, uncomfortable and slightly irritated - why was he taking so long to drink his stupid bottle?  My arm was falling asleep faster than he was and I just wanted to go watch tv or something.  But then, I started to look at his small face staring blankly up at me and his miniscule fingers making tiny fists.  I looked at his birth mark, which I had been told a dozen times at least that it was the same as mine when I had been born, and I looked at his mircoscopic, light blond eyelashes.  His eyes had begun to flutter as though he was fighting to keep them opened and I watched his struggle against sleep with a slight fascination;  this little warlock now had me under his spell.  I was unable to look away, and as he fell asleep in my arms, I fell in love with this little creature that I had so unfairly set my heart against. 
That was fifteen years ago and still to this day, it goes without saying, that I love my brother as dearly as on that night that he stole my heart by falling asleep in the arms of my flustered and childish twelve year old self.