There is a strange mythology surrounding being the first. I was the first child, the grandchild on both sides of my family, the baby everyone carried around, the one with endless photos and the one everyone cherished. Then slowly many more arrived. Cousin after cousin after cousin. At first, I was thrilled. I would soon be big sister; I would have someone to play, someone to hold, someone to watch grow up. But as more cousins arrived, I began to feel as though I had become a little less visible. I distinctively remember one moment with my grandfather. My cousins and I were about to cross the street, when my grandfather reached for my cousin's hand first. For a mere second, it felt as though he had forgotten about me. As a child, that felt enormous I remember coming home and deciding, with absolute certainty only a child could could have, that I would never talk to my grandfather ever again. Of course, I eventually did. Another moment that I do not like thin...