On the Outside Looking In

I became an aunt on a recent drizzly October morning. Being an aunt is nothing like being a mother, which is rather obvious, but nonetheless profound, when you've spent the last nine months avoiding precisely this realization. You can love your sister wholeheartedly (I do), you can be there for her during labor (I was), you can rinse out her vomit bucket, and rub her back during contractions, and cry real tears of gratitude and love and joy when your tiny nephew slips into the world on a wave of sweat and blood and laughter, but you will still know that you are playing the supporting role, and not the lead, in this little drama. And I don't want to get all self-pitying and woe-is-me-ish, because honestly, that's just not very attractive, and it looks kind of petty, and probably no one really wants to hear me whine about how unfair it all is. But I will take the advice of a dear friend who said to me "be gentle with yourself right now." So I will be, and I'll admit that this is hard. Really hard.

And maybe it's okay to admit that.