The Eternal Guest Room

I spent last weekend in Seattle visiting my little sister and her new baby. I didn’t drop or break him, so I consider the visit a success. In seriousness though, the time was mostly fine. I even enjoyed it for the most part. I originally figured I’d go pretty soon after he was born, but my sister wanted me to wait awhile so I wouldn’t be there in the midst of insanity (and 8 million other family members) and so we could have some time together (we’re close but don’t see each other a lot because of the distance). So he was a month old when I got there, and it turned out to be a good plan because we did get some sister time in. My sister has been incredibly patient and understanding throughout everything, and it made all the difference in the world.

I held him a lot. I found it to be a lot like holding my cats – a small, warm, soft little thing that makes funny noises when they sleep. Comforting, for whatever reason. I enjoy my sisters’ children when other people aren’t around – which is hard to explain, but there’s something about having other people oohing and ahhing and making a fuss that just stabs me in the heart. I can’t explain it. At one point some of her friends came over and were gushing and going on an on and I just had to get out of the house.

Spending one evening at the grandparents’ house also did not go well for me (not my parents, the other side). Something about being around the grandparents is the worst; all those feelings come rushing back that I’ve worked so hard at getting under control – those feelings of inferiority and defectiveness and isolation. It should be me producing grandchildren and bringing my kids to see their grandparents, and I’m still just the barren aunt with nothing to do but watch everyone else enjoying the expanding family. It hurts.

One morning, my sister was sleeping and her husband went out to walk the dog. He asked me to bring the baby to my sister if he started going crazy, and I said sure. After awhile he started making noises, and being the paranoid and clueless infertile that I am, I had no idea if that was a bad thing or ok (although I was pretty sure it didn’t fall into the “going crazy” category). So I went in to the nursery and picked him up and held him and suddenly I had tears down my face. And I thought “I want this so badly.” And my heart hurt. And I cried.

I have built up defenses and even shut down my heart to some extent, because I have to get on with my life. But I know it’s still down there.

At the end of the weekend I was sad to say good-bye. I know that the next time I see him, it will be surrounded by family, and it will be hard. I’m glad I had that time, with just the 2 of us, and with just my sister. It was a good visit and I’m glad I went. Sometimes the hardest things in life turn out to be the best things you can do, and this was one of them.