Welcome to the world my niece, born this morning, Monday June 4, at 5:45 am. 8 pounds exactly. (Sorry, no pictures yet. Don’t worry — I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll be getting plenty of them in the coming months, and indeed years.)
It’s funny. When Ingrid’s sister told us she was pregnant, and I was all, “Yay, I’m going to be an aunt,” I had a brief moment of wondering, “Hang on. Am I, in fact, going to be this kid’s aunt?”
And then it immediately occurred to me: Of course I am. Every bit as much as my Uncle Joe, my Aunt Susan, my Uncle Bob, are my uncles and aunt.
When I was a very little kid, I don’t think I even understood that there was any difference in relationship between my Uncle Joe and my Aunt Marcia, my Uncle Owen and my Aunt Susan, my Aunt Phoebe and my Uncle Bob. They were all just my aunts and uncles. And even when I got old enough to understand that there was a difference between aunt or uncle by blood and aunt or uncle by marriage, it’s not like it was a difference that made any difference. If that makes sense. They’re still all my aunts and uncles.
And that’s how I feel about my niece. I am this baby’s aunt. Every bit as much as if she were my brother’s kid. And every bit as much as if Ingrid and I were legally married.
I can’t wait to meet her.