Becoming an aunt again.

I remember the day I found out I was going to be an aunt. 

It wasn’t a good day. 

It was difficult, painful, and sent me to the type of fight or flight mama bear mode that not even birth had. 

But in the months that followed, I had a little time to reflect.

When I was a child, the coolest person in my world was Auntie Mary Jo. She’s my Godmom. I wanted to be like her more than almost any other person on the planet. She gave me Barbies, and wrapped my birthday presents in birthday paper (even though my birthday is on Christmas Eve.) 

She was single and awesome. And then, she was married and awesome. And then she gave birth to Andy. And Aaron, and Matthew, and Casey. I babysat all of them at one time or another. I remember tiny Andy in his tuxedo sleeper. I remember holding Aaron for what felt like hours as he slept in the hospital. Casey was born only a few hours after I got off a bus from Minnesota – just a few months before I got married. 

And then there was Matthew. I had fun with Matthew. I remember a day when he was sick. I happened to be home from college, so his mom called me to babysit. We hung out all day. Poop oozed out the back of his diaper and onto my shirt. (He got me REALLY good.) Then I sat him in the kitchen sink and he played happily while I made brownies – with powered sugar instead of flour. Oops! For one day, at least in my memory, he was a happy little guy.

Each one of those four little boys mean so much to me. 

Andy is getting married in the fall. Aaron is in college. And Matthew?. He just listed me as his “aunt” on Facebook. He has no idea how much that means to me. I have nieces, godchildren, and now, a nephew.

But, no kiddo, I’m not buying you beer.