Aunt Pookie's Babies

The older of my two nephews (my baby boys) recently had his 15th birthday.  With this milestone, I can't help but think back to when my nephews were born, where I was in my own life then and what they've both meant to me.  I haven't talked much about my nephews in this blog because I want to respect their privacy.  As hormonal teens, starting in new schools, the last thing they need is their "Aunt Pookie" telling embarrassing stories about when they were babies.  But, I will anyway...

While lots of friends near my same age are having kids, thinking about kids or, in the case of a few of the gay couples, adopting kids, I find myself in a much different stage. I feel like I've already had my babies... my gorgeous nephews. My oldest sister, their mom, and I have always been close. I've mentioned before that my sister was/is very maternal and has always acted like a parent to me. When she had her babies I was in my late teens-early 20s and fortunate to be there since my parents' house was still my primary residence. Like my sister did for me when I was young, I also found myself helping to take care of her boys. Actually, my entire family pitched in, as only family can.

Since my mom babysat during the week and I was still living at home, we both got to spend a lot of time with my baby nephews. Coincidentally (or not,) this is also around the time we both came to appreciate the happiest time of the day, happy hour. Not to say that my nephews were bad children, it's just that they were/are extremely active, energetic beings, unlike those easy-going kids who sit still long enough to watch Teletubbies for the entire half hour (giving their caregivers enough to time to shower, dress and brush their teeth or, at the very least, finish off the remaining toast crusts and apple juice backwash from the kid's breakfast.) No, there were no such luxuries of quiet time while watching my athletic, argumentative, incredibly hilarious nephews.

With all of the child-rearing experience I gained when my nephews were young, in a lot of ways, I felt like a proud parent. However, my children saw me as anything but a parent or even an adult. Instead, they saw me as a peer, someone closer to their age than the adults in their acquaintance, someone who played games and tee-ball and power rangers with them all day, someone who might as well be their "slow" cousin rather than their "adult" aunt. In fact, there was a time or two when my boys tried telling on me to my mom (their grandma) when they didn't get their way during a game of tee-ball or when their slow cousin/aunt (me) may have uttered a choice four-letter word (ok, so I may have contributed to their fowl language vocabulary.) Little snitches!

As an 18 year-old aunt/slow cousin to two beautiful boys, I feel that my maternal instincts are fulfilled. My nephews, although not my own biological children, are my pride and joy. They are an extension of my family and the ones who will be taking care of me, their old, pickled aunt when she's 80. So, from now on, I better let them win a few games of tee-ball...