I don’t like being right

Last month, I wrote about my mother posting a soppy declaration on Facebook about my brother on his birthday, about how proud she is of him and all that.

I said to myself later that she’d probably do the same thing on my sister’s birthday.

Well, today is my sister’s birthday, and yes, I was right. She posted a soppy, melodramatic thing (complete with a photo collage) about how somebody told her that when my sister was born she’d be special and a blessing, and how that person was right.

I just…

Again, where was mine? Not the photo collage, as I don’t care about that. But the words, the sentiment? Where were her feelings of soppiness and pride for me? Me, her firstborn? Me, who (according to the story I’ve heard my entire life) she wanted so much and prayed for and “worries” for now? Where was all of that on my goddamn birthday?

If she had the time to pop onto Facebook, make photo collages, think of and write soppy messages on my sibs’ birthdays (on workdays, even!), she could have written a couple words really quick to me on my timeline on my birthday. She had a Facebook page on my birthday. She knew how to use it–especially if she could make fancy photo collages. She even had the time, as my birthday was a Saturday this year.

Why can’t I get her to love me? Why do they always get it? Is it because they marched along and followed the family script? My sister got married and popped out kids. My brother had a few kids and got married. I have no kids (I never wanted them), and have never been married, nor am I particularly interested in being married. Why is that so bad?

What have I done that’s so wrong?