A year ago today I was 3 glasses of pinot noir and one donut deep, spooning my sister on a hospital couch at 3am.
My contacts had long been thrown in the trash because I couldn’t shut my eyes for more than 20 seconds without them driving me insane. There may or may not have been drool on my shirt, but there most definitely was a rat’s nest in the place where my hair usually is.
It was so cold that we had wrapped ourselves in any piece of clothing we could find, along with some gnarly looking hospital blankets. We looked like refugees from a wild bender gone terribly wrong. And I’m sure that’s what the nurses would have assumed, were we not huddled in the Labor and Delivery ward and demanding updates every 10 minutes on the arrival of this guy:
Happy birthday Bean! You’re one step closer to being old enough to buy me that drink you owe me for pulling an all nighter on a hospital couch.
(Dear other nieces and nephews: You may be wondering, Aunt Jennie, why didn’t I get a birthday shout out on the blog?! Well, for starters, I was too chicken to make it to the hospital for your births. Except for Anna Banana, and that doesn’t even count because she was #4 and popped out in about 30 seconds while my sister ate a sandwich and my bro-in-law watched college basketball. Or I didn’t know you yet when you were born, if you’re coming from Husband’s side. But I am an equal opportunity embarrasser, er, story teller. I will happily post here about changing your diapers, watching the temper tantrums, that time Scotty wouldn’t let go of the door to McDonald’s and they almost called social services…you know, just the good stuff.)
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Definition: Aunt. The coolest aunt that ever roamed the earth. As in,
“Tante Jennie, why are you making us watch The Labrinthe again?”
“Uh, because it’s the best children’s movie ever made.”
[David Bowie appears]
“I want mommy!”