  My names means "Graceful-Perfect-Oath". I think my parents had high expectations for me, judging from this fact. It's strange to imagine them preparing for me to be born. I am their only daughter, and I have been told that lone-female offspring often enchant parents-to-be.
My oldest brother used to sit on my Mom's lap and talk to "Baby Anna". In my early years, my brothers bestowed great knowledge unto me; such as how to stir my chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and gravy together for dinnertime fun. They expanded my vocabulary to include words such as "poopy" and "booger"- which I grew to use frequently in preschool and church. Joe taught me all about the Nija Turtles (this was before they were retro and hip) Jake taught me the art of the Whine.
With my brothers, I was a daredevil. I could jump off the top bunk, I could eat that cookie off the ground, I could step on all the sidewalk cracks without major trauma to my mother's vertebrae. Reflecting upon my childhood (which isn't over, despite how much I wish it were) makes me declare this: I want to have children. Not now, of course, but once I am married. I want to have lots of children. I want to meticulously plan their names, anticipate their arrival. Paint the nursery, buy expensive bottles and a diaper genie. I want to read Richard Scary books to them and take them to the latest Disney Movie.
And, you know, I don't think I will regret them when they are awful. Even when they throw up in the minivan on car trips, or when they pee all over the bathroom. There doesn't seem like a more honorable job than parenting. Procreating, bringing more humans into existence. Note to self: make sure future fiance wants twelve rugrats. Affectionately... Anna 
