Being Auntie Koppy

It's that time of year again...

We dust off our finery, accept the invitation, head out to find gift registries, get together with our friends, and celebrate the impending addition of a new family member.

I'm twenty-nine years old, and it seems that just about everyone I know is having children. I love being an Auntie. I really, really do. I love it when the kids learn my name, I love looking at their pictures, I love holding a newborn, and I really love playing with them and making them smile. There is nothing I love more than being Auntie Koppy.

I've always been good with children. There are some people in this world that are clearly "baby" people. I am one of those people. But for me, relating to children is much easier than it is to connect with adults, or at least I think so. A child's world isn't comprised of much more than mom, dad, school, and play group. They're proud of their new shoes, of their pretty dress, or of their new toy. It's just a matter of finding what they love to really get them to open up, laugh, and feel special.

Okay. I just re-read that paragraph, and I sound like I'm writing an instruction manual for child molesters.

So, this weekend was filled with baby-related activities. Last night, I went over to my friend Molly's for a Sip 'n See to meet Baby Maddie. I got to hold Maddie for a bit, give her a bottle, and I read stories to Gracie and Greta. And I could do that stuff for hours. Today, I went over to Tia's for a baby shower, honoring Jocelyn. Baby Maddie was there again and I got to hold her again. Baby Drew also made himself available for a little one-on-one. My cup runneth over.

All of my friends have children of their own, or they have nieces and nephews, so I suppose the idea of being around children is somewhat customary for them. Obviously, I have no children and I'm not an aunt in any official capacity. So, for me, the time that I get to spend with my friends' children is that much more meaningful for me. Still, as my girlfriends are trading pregnancy, child birth, or baby stories, I've got nothing to contribute. It's like being the only girl at Prom that wasn't asked to dance. They show pictures of their children, marvel at their growing bellies, and I...well, I get to show off pictures of my dog.

Relating this to my friend, Kelly, today, she tells me that it could be worse. I could be a cat lady.

And, not that I'd admit it to anyone, but these sort of things are hard for me. But, I don't want to be "that" girl. I don't want to be the one that can't overlook her own struggles to appreciate a friend's successes. So, I save my pity party for my own time. I reflect, I think, I re-read my ovulation calendar, this journal, I talk to my husband, and occasionally, one or two tears will leak out. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I do feel sorry for myself. It's stupid, really.

These past few months have been nothing but a roller coaster of emotions - drug induced or not. But more recently - and maybe I've just been doing a good job of forgetting - I feel a measured level of acceptance setting in. Maybe I'll never been the proud owner of a ceramic ashtray or drink out of a "Best Mom in the World" mug, but I'm starting to realize that with every success comes struggles. Every cloud has a silver lining. To quote the Pussycat Dolls, "Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it." This is what I'm supposed to be, this is what is supposed to happen to me.

Until the course changes, however, I will continue to proudly display (and keep) all artwork made for Auntie Koppy and will always, always be available to babysit. Promise.