My baby factory was shuttered more than a decade ago. And even though it produced nada other than cramps, I have no regrets about whatever miscreant I might have co-produced. I’ve had brief, infrequent bouts with baby lust, too few to mention, really.
And while I feel every bit a woman, save for the times I think I just might be a man in bad drag, I have my nieces and nephews who come visit and ever since I turned 60 many have already called dibs on most of my stuff. I’ll find little yellow Post It notes with someone’s initials under my better pieces of furniture. And where I keep my jewelry????? It’s so loaded with yellow Post Its that a burglar would think I have a thing for poorly created origami.
Make no mistake about these Libertines, I adore them all but admittedly, affection grows when they stay with me, because they eventually go back to their homes if old enough, or back to their Ma and Pa, if still under the marrying age in Appalachia.
This is Emily.
She’s a lot like me in some ways, my polar opposite in other ways. But we have a very similar sense of humor. Farts are always funny and I say that despite the 49 years that separate our ages. She’s curious now. I have (with her mom’s permission) discussed with her boys, tampons, pimples, bras, first kisses, dating and why Strom Thurmond could still father a child at like age 101 and a woman can’t beyond a certain point. Now, THAT took more diplomacy than Old Strom could have EVER demonstrated in entire 236 year political career.
Anyway, we’re honoring the first day of Fall by going to the mall and spending part of her inheritance on sweaters and cooler weather wear.. She also wants a James Avery necklace with a Star of David charm on it. I explained we’re Catholic, not Jewish but she wants to be “religiously fluid”. Besides, she says “the star is pretty”. Can’t argue with the future of America.
Must close now so I can scrape the barnacles off my hull and Emily must wage war against very active (and rapidly changing) prepubescent glands with a long hot shower.
And I might suggest a little Lysol.
Despite my darker sarcasm, I love her dearly. And even though my memory fades, I can still muster enough healthy gray matter to remember what it was like to be a Tween. In some ways, I envy her. “So much of life ahead”, to quote Karen Carpenter. First loves and all that. In other ways, I’m glad to be far removed from all that angst that lies in wait.
But as she grows, she’ll always have her pretty star necklace.
Shalom, my precious niece.
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