On Aunting

The thing about becoming an aunt is that it alters everything.

When a child is born, the parents’ lives are changed arguably more drastically than anyone else’s. While I don’t think anyone can truly be wholly prepared for the ways in which their lives change when they become parents, there are books, shows, movies, websites, and older generations who are there to teach and guide parents as they ease into their new realities.

No one teaches you how to become an aunt, or explains how your life will change. A quick Internet search offered me a book and a website. Google also suggested I read a book that will teach me how to live a full life even if I haven’t had children. Thanks for that, Google.

I’m not sure there’s a significant market for aunting, so the resources currently available are probably sufficient. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen different essays addressing the emotional impact of a new niece or nephew. But I’ve discovered that while the overprotective, nurturing, all-consuming love is a real thing, some other things are also super real.

No one is lying about that love. It will overtake you for awhile. Revel in it.
You now hold the same mystical power of authority held by parents, teachers, and cops the world over.
The same schedules that govern parents now govern you. Your evenings are ending at 9 pm – 10 on a Saturday.
Let go of the idea of meaningful conversations. In a decade you’ll be able to chat about your life.
They’re watching you.

I won’t get into how much my heart has expanded with each new little person who’s entered my life. That’s been done. It’s the next four that really interest me.

When I put my nephew Sam in time out, and he stays there, I’m shocked as hell every time. Why is he staying there? Doesn’t he realize he can get up and move? If he does move, what’s he think I’m gonna be able to do about it? When it’s time to cross a street and my nephew EC reaches for my hand, I’m always bewildered. He knows the rules, he looks around for an adult whose hand he can hold, and he decides on me. I barely remember to look both ways for myself, and this little one sees me as a suitable option? When Nella wants to participate in something and asks my permission, I secretly question her sanity. I’ve made some pretty questionable decisions in my life and yet my niece thinks I’m a good judge of whether she should play in a bounce house? I’m certain parents face these same doubts but as parents they know that kind of authority is coming at them. As an aunt, I didn’t expect to be a capital-G Grownup. I also didn’t expect to feel a sense of responsibility about it, or to spend time denying cookies before dinner. (I love cookies before dinner! Who would’ve expected me to discourage that in any way?!) I have to make a concerted effort to remember to feed my kiddos at regular intervals, and that poopy butts need wiping. I mean, it’s cool, I’ve got this, but that part of it was not fully explained to me before entering into this relationship.

The scheduling issue creeps up on you. When the first child is born you do the First Baby Celebration and then very quickly you back away, so that the new parents can settle in. You might show up here and there to help out, give Mom a quick nap, or drop off a casserole. Unless you’re socially inept you realize that new families are hands off in the beginning. Then, after a suitable time has passed, you start texting or calling to ask if Tuesday is a good day to drop by for Baby Time. After awhile the pre-visit texts become habit and you ask to schedule a good time for dinner. Dinner dates become scheduled around bedtimes and babysitters. Eventually dance classes and soccer games are introduced and the schedule becomes so crowded that dinner becomes rare. Six years ago, Christine could walk into her kitchen on any given day and finding me rooting around her cupboards for Ritz crackers. So it had been since 1992, so it would be… til 2010. I don’t remember the change happening, but I do know that in this post-baby world those rare nights with her have me home by 10 pm, kinda wondering if I’m supposed to go to bed now, too. And I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been together without one or more children in the past 5 years. It’s not a bad thing. I love those kids with my whole heart and I nod off by 11 anyway. I just never knew that munchkin routines and parental exhaustion would have an impact on me.

You know what else I never knew? Kids interrupt. A lot. Like a lot, a lot. As in, from the minute they start talking, you will never have the opportunity to complete a sentence. You’ll start conversations at a normal level and will gradually increase your volume to be heard. You’ll pause in your shouting every 30 seconds while Mom or Dad tells them that they need to be quiet and wait for the grownups to finish talking. Then you’ll try to remember where you left off and in that half second of thinking time The Interrupter will assume you’re done and will jump in again. Mom tells him that you’re not done, you finally remember where you left off and start again, only to grow increasingly more uncomfortable as The Interrupter gives you the evil eye. You’re pressured to finish quickly, you start thinking maybe the funny story isn’t so funny, you stumble, The Interrupter sees his chance and starts sneaking in a few words, and you’re right back to the shouting. The whole cycle repeats itself until bedtime, when interruptions stop coming from the talking children and start coming from the moving parents. They’ve got to get this load in the laundry. They’ve got to stop at the stairs and make sure the kids are really sleeping. Those toys are out of place, that permission slip needs signing, this plate missed the dishwasher cycle, the cat needs feeding. You trail around the house with them, listening to stories about boy child’s night terrors and puzzling out solutions to girl child’s shyness. When they finally sit down, you’ve given ‘girl talk’ up as a bad job and they’re not sorry because they’re ready for bed. It gets frustrating, and no one warns you that it’s coming. No one says, “Hey, forget it, talking to parents is impossible.” They don’t tell you that the big stuff gets covered in texts. The little stuff gets skipped. You stop knowing the details of each other for awhile. This one is probably the hardest to adapt to. But I’ve found the bright side is that I may not know what my brother thought of last weekend’s football games, but I know that Sammy baked Play-Doh cookies with my mom. Right now, that’s enough.

Mom and Dad are the rocks. Grandma and Grandpa are the safety nets. Teachers are the water for their thirsty little sponge brains. Aunts are a whole different universe. We’re a little magical, and a lot mysterious. We sometimes make them follow the rules, and we sometimes help break them. We know how to use an oven, but we also know how to play pretend. We have the power to stop them from getting in trouble. We’re experienced cuddlers and we wear fantastic shoes – doesn’t matter if those shoes are work boots or heels. We’re part parent and part playmate. Which brings us to that last point, that they’re watching you. Kids are the Big Brother of the real world. It’s no joke. Aunts are something a little bit different and children soak in the otherness of it. They’re watching us help break the rules, and they’re watching us use an oven. They’re watching how we put on lipstick and they’re watching every word we say. My filthy pirate’s mouth has been replaced with the polite exclamations of a polo match. Everyone wins.

I have always had an extraordinary relationship with each of my aunts. As a kid there’s something very exotic about someone who’s like your mom, but isn’t your mom. I’ve never asked whether they felt the same way in my childhood as I feel now, but after posting this I’m pretty sure I’ll be learning the answers because that’s what aunts do. We support, we guide, we shield, we ask, we answer, we listen, we adapt, we teach, we grow, we shine.

We have the authority of a parent but the glamour of something else. Time with us is treasured. It isn’t commonplace. We’re special because we make them special. I think that’s what changes most when you become an aunt. You become a star.