Okay, so picture this: I grew up as the oldest of nine kids. Yeah, NINE. We had a bunch of sisters, and life was always, shall we say, *lively*. When I was around 10 to 12 years old, somewhere around that age, I had a favorite pastime at the park that I genuinely thought was the coolest thing ever. You know those swings? The ones that hang from a long string, where you can sit in there and really bounce? Well, I really enjoyed going and twirling—like, spinning myself on those swings. I’d get all wound up, let go, and then just spin down. It was so much fun! One day, I decided my baby sister needed to experience this pure joy. So, I took her, put her gently in the swing, and started spinning her around. Faster and faster we went! Then, with a flourish, I let go. She was going! She was there! I was like, “Yeah! Awesome!” I watched her spin, and then I stopped her. But that’s when things took a turn. Her eyes were… well, they were like stuck, darting from corner to corner. They weren't focusing. My heart sank. OH MY GOD. I instantly thought, “I broke her.” The panic that shot through me was instant and overwhelming. I mean, what do you even do when you think you’ve broken a baby? Do you try to put her back together? Can you just run away? My mind was racing a million miles an hour. And then the really dark thought hit me. I have a sister with severe special needs, and in that moment of utter panic, all I could think was, “OH LORD. WE GOT ANOTHER ONE. OH MY GOD, CAN I HIDE THIS?!” I swear, that thought was purely primal fear and not malicious, but it was absolutely my first instinct. The sheer terror of having caused something permanent to my baby sister, and the subsequent dread of having to explain it to my parents, was almost unbearable. Luckily, after a few more terrifying seconds, her eyes slowly started to re-focus. She blinked a few times, let out a little gurgle, and seemed to be perfectly fine. I scooped her out of that swing so fast, my own head was probably spinning. I vowed right then and there that I would never, EVER try to share my “fun” swing activity with a baby again. It's a story I told a lady at the park recently, and watching her try not to laugh and then just completely fail was almost as entertaining as the original incident itself. It's funny now, obviously, but for a moment there, my childhood flashed before my eyes, and I thought my life as a responsible older sister was officially over.