For the first nine years of my life, it was always George and me. Our parents got divorced when we were toddlers, so it was just the two of us going back and forth throughout the week – a brother and sister tied at the hip.

My mom and dad each got remarried to new people, so we knew that new siblings weren’t out of the picture.

Ethan was born a few days before I turned 9 years old. To be honest, I don’t even remember my stepmom and my dad telling me that they were having another baby. In my memories, Ethan just appeared one day. A little kid who liked to clean and dance in nothing but a diaper.

When I was 10 years old, my mom sat George and me down and said that she had an announcement. I looked her dead in the eye and said, “You’re pregnant.” I remember that clearly because I think it was the day that my life really did change.

At this point, I had two brothers whom I loved and cherished, and I was excited for the possibility that I would have a sister.

That didn’t happen.

I cut the cake and there was stupid blue frosting drawn all over the knife.

“Another freaking brother,” I remember thinking at the ripe age of 10.

Not long after my mom announced her pregnancy, Ethan walked out of his room in a blue T-shirt with orange writing that said “I’m gonna be a big brother.” What? My dad and my stepmom were having a second baby, and around Christmas time that baby was announced to be a boy. Number four.

I had four brothers.

I remember thinking, “Couldn’t I have gotten one sister?” It’s just me with four boys. Everyone always told me, “You’re going to be the princess. You’re going to get everything you want. All the attention’s going to be on you.”

And let me tell you, I am the princess.

But the attention is not always on me, and that’s my fault. I give those boys every ounce of attention that everyone thought I was going to have.

I take pictures at their baseball, soccer and football games and celebrate everything they accomplish. It has been the joy of my life, and I’m only 19.

Although I have four brothers by blood, four years ago I welcomed a fifth sibling. My little sister. She would probably die if I said this, but my boyfriend’s sister is the little sister God was waiting to send me. She’s funny, she’s obnoxious and she’s perfect.

As I’m writing this, it’s Thursday, April 30, and college decision day is tomorrow. Georgie’s going to wake up and put on his University of Rhode Island T-shirt, and I’m going to cry because life moved so fast. It’s such a cliché thing to say, but it’s true.

With this big day ahead, I reflect on when I was deciding on a school. I knew I couldn’t go far. I wanted to be there for the fifth-grade graduations, concerts, baseball games and birthdays.

Sometimes I lie and say I chose New York for the media landscape or whatever. Really, it’s because I wanted to get away, but I love being a big sister so much that I couldn’t leave.