By Micki Bare
The starting gate has just opened for Hubby’s brother and his wife. They are the proud parents of a beautiful baby boy. Their house is filled with the sweet scent of new arrival. His cry is delicate and cute. His skin is soft and supple. He sleeps, eats and poops.
My nephew’s playroom was converted into a nursery. The kitchen will soon be filled with bottles — clean ones, dirty ones and prepared ones ready for that next feeding.
Piles of laundry will soon adorn their abode. Clean clothes of all sizes will be stacked on the couch and spit-up stained clothes will be piled in, on and around the hamper.
Every time we get a baby text-update or download a baby picture, I get caught up in reminiscing about my own boys and their baby days. Some of their tiny clothes are still packed neatly in the attic. I’m not sure if I saved them for my future grandchildren or just to hold every now and again.
I’m looking forward to holding my new nephew. I don’t get to hold my kids anymore. At 12, 16 and 17, they don’t take too kindly to close contact with their mother. Oh sure, I get a hug every now and then, but those hugs fall into one of two categories.
The first is the vacation hug. If one of my boys is getting ready to leave for an extended stay at a relative’s house or summer camp, there is usually a departure hug. Of course, I have to make the first move, but they don’t normally pull away if they won’t be back for several nights.
Sometimes I get a hug upon their return from a long trip. If I execute the hug just before helping with their bags and gear, they will most likely oblige. Someday, when they are older and no longer residing in our home, I look forward to receiving both arrival and departure hugs.
The second category is the bribe hug. If my children want something special or need a favor, they sometimes offer a hug in exchange. They know that for a ride to a friend’s house or the use of the family car, a hug usually does the trick. An offer to fill the gas tank doesn’t hurt, either.
While I don’t clock snuggle time anymore, I also don’t have laundry piled everywhere. I don’t even do that much laundry. My kids are responsible for their clothes. Hubby does his. Mom won’t let anyone touch hers, but then she’s seen too many pink and blue — formally white — articles of clothing emerge from the laundry area since joining the household.
When my workload gets heavy, Hubby chips in to catch up my laundry. Since moving, I have not used our washer or dryer. I don’t even know where the laundry soap is stored in our new basement. I have heard that the openness of the basement makes laundry time easier than when our appliances were situated in a closet in the hallway.
While my in-laws are stocking up on Baby Gap and Healthtex, we’ll be picking up some Aéropostale and American Eagle gift cards for our teens’ Easter baskets. Meanwhile, the chocolate bunny the new baby gets from Nana is parent-food by default. Hubby and I will have to buy our own chocolate at 50 percent off the week after Easter.
Bringing home a new baby means a world of firsts. From his first night at home to his first steps, we will be getting a barrage of “great iPhotos” over the next couple of years. When firsts are new and exciting, we are compelled to record it all for posterity. In the midst of moving, I opened one of my old baby books and a lock of wispy blonde hair floated out.
The firsts don’t end when the baby crosses the threshold of the elementary school. There’s the first girlfriend, first time behind the wheel, first car and first kiss — not that I would get the details from my boys on the kiss thing. As the boys grow older, the firsts are just spread a bit further apart.
I’m looking forward to interrupting my brother and sister-in-law’s new baby documentaries with a slideshow of my firstborn’s high school graduation festivities. Then there will be the video of him heading off to college followed by my middle child’s senior pictures. The youngest has a first day of high school coming up in a couple of years as well.
While it is unimaginable to me to be at the offspring starting gate at this stage of my life, I am thrilled to be an aunt again. It’s nice to have a new baby in the family to snuggle and spoil. Plus, the little guy will fill the family’s “baby” craving for the next five to 10 years, taking the pressure off my kids to make me a grandma.
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Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, “Relative Expressions.” She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.
