I'm pleased and proud to announce that yesterday morning at 3:09 am, my brother's wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Deklan Patrick. He's my first nephew and the girls' first cousin. That is, the first cousin they've ever had. (Who also happens to be their first cousin.)
I'm all for cousins. I have seven of them myself, varying in age from ten years older than me to eighteen years younger. I saw them all on a fairly regular basis growing up, some more regularly than others. Family get-togethers were always so much more appealing when cousins were involved. Adult relatives were all well and good, but not terribly exciting. Cousins, on the other hand, were this cool cross between a sibling and a friend. They were (sometimes surprisingly) different from you in terms of appearance and personality, and yet you had a sort of conspiratorial connection: you were all from the same crazy family, with parents who grew up in the same house, and you a shared set of grandparents. (Although, actually, in the case of one of my grandparents, this last fact made me jealous sometimes: She's my grandma! Not yours!)
I am glad that the girls will have a cousin not too far apart in age from them. It seems like a big gap now, but it's almost exactly the age difference between my brother and me, and we have always been good friends. I'm looking forward to bringing the girls up to meet the little guy, hopefully in a few weeks, once we're in the clear from a recent H1N1 scare. (A kid in the girls' preschool class was diagnosed last week, so we've been on symptom-watch, but nothing so far....unless holding in your poop so you don't have to go on the toilet because you're scared and then letting it rip in your pants counts as a symptom, in which Elsa's had H1N1 for two weeks now.)
Anyway, I think the girls sort of get the fact that the baby that was in Aunt Emmy's tummy came out, and that he's a boy. When I got home from work last night, I asked them if they knew what the baby's name was, and while Elsa said something close to "Dek-an," Clio's reply was much closer to "Ducky." When I asked if they'd seen the picture of him that my brother had sent, Clio said, "Yeah, I think he looks like a ducky." I don't see it, but judge for yourselves:
As for me, I'm rather excited to be an aunt. First off, because "Aunt Jane" sounds so terribly, terribly elegant. I feel like I ought to be one of those willowy ladies on the cover of a 1920s New Yorker, with a long cigarette holder and a chic hat. (Which I am so completely not.) Secondly, because I'm looking forward to holding a little teeny baby that I have some biological and emotional connection with, but that I don't have to wake up with every three hours. I've already enjoyed buying little boy clothes, and am looking forward to doing more of the same.
I don't think that meeting this baby (which I hope to do on a quick solo jaunt this weekend) will flip any biological switches for me, and make me suddenly want to have another one of my own. But I wonder if it will be a little bittersweet. Lately, I've been feeling rather nostalgic for the girls' baby days. There was something so sweet about that time (exhausting though it could be) -- so focused and so singular in purpose. Feed, change, rock, hold, play, smile, burp, clean up, giggle, repeat. It was an intense time, to be sure -- not exactly a walk in the park -- but in a good way. I don't think I've ever felt as present and alive and content.
Since then, it's been much more of an emotional roller coaster, due to the more rigorous challenge (as far as I'm concerned) of parenting toddlers, as well as some of my own personal issues, both chemical and situational. Not that things are miserable by any stretch. In fact, I find being with the girls continually more fun and rewarding as they blossom into people. But I will always look back on the simplicity and wonder of that first year with great fondness. I hope my brother and his wife will have reason to do the same.
