A Whole Person

Recently, I have been making an effort to stay in touch with my 91-year-old grand cousin. He was my grandmother's favorite cousin, Larry. He has been married for about 70 years to his wife, and they are retired, living out west. I have enjoyed our conversations because he has told me so much about our family history. Tonight, he told me that when my grandma was younger, my great-grandfather used to yell at her. 

"I think he was just afraid he was going to lose her," he informed me. 

When we got off the phone, I burst into tears. I know that no one is perfect, but my grandma came pretty close. She was kind and she was sweet and she was always thinking about everyone but herself. I couldn't stand the thought of someone being mean to her, no matter what the reason. I then began to think about the tantrums I used to throw as a kid and how ungrateful and bratty I could be. I pondered on something that we don't realize until we are older: the adults in our lives had whole lives before we got here. My grandma, who got on me for not wearing dresses and insisted that I press my hair, loved me and took care of me and also had a dad who could sometimes be mean to her. She liked to dance and play the guitar when she was younger. She sang with her friends in a jazz band. She was more than just the old lady that got on me for sitting with my legs open in skirts. She was a whole person. How did her life influence the kind of life that she tried to point me in the direction of having?

If nothing else, big questions like this are signs of getting older. When my niece and nephew become teens, and I am grounding them and putting them on punishment for being obnoxious, I wonder if they will be wise enough to know that I am not just their cruel aunty. I was a whole person before they got here that liked chopped and screwed love songs and books. Perhaps they will take this into account when they are mature enough to create a full picture of me. 

Qualities

My nephew is 7. It's interesting that I'm not his mom, but at times, when I'm interacting with him, I feel like I am dealing with a male, child version of myself. He is a sensitive kid, full of emotions. He cares too much about what his peers think. He's stubborn. These were not qualities that suited me well when I was a kid. I feel that they actually made me a target which I guess still stands true because he sometimes deals with bullies on the school bus, just as I did. 

I can't stand bullies, but I often wonder what my childhood would have been like if I was more gangsta and had more confidence. I could have gone on to be the next Oprah or Wendy Williams. Even now, I deal with second guessing myself, which I feel is rooted from when I was a kid. I remember times when I thought I looked pretty, a mean kid would tell me I didn't, and my whole day would crumble. My moods were dependent on how I was received. I don't want that experience for my nephew. 

Remember when they used to talk about "designer babies"? These were babies where the parents could choose the physical aspects they wanted their kids to have somehow through tampering with DNA. For the most part, people were against the idea. I think it would be cool if we could choose the other qualities we wanted our kids to have. I would have hounded my sister to make sure my nephew didn't have my qualities. I'd tell her to make sure they sprinkled some tough skin and bravery in the baby juice, because these are things I lacked that I am still trying to obtain. 

Even so, I still find that I bask in the sweet, childlike nature of my nephew. I just want him to be able to kick a$$ and take names when need be in life. As I said, I want him to be brave. I don't want him to have my qualities. 

#newauntyseason

I don't believe that I told you all this, but my sister had a baby. His name is Isaiah, and I watch him twice a week while my sister is at work during the day. He is two months. When he isn't asleep, he is crying, and he has to be fed every three hours, even if that third hour falls in the middle of the night.
Lately, he has been super needy. I think that he is getting sick. I have tried to put him on a sleep schedule. That has been an epic fail, seeing that everyone wants to play with him. Bath time has become dangerous. He tries to kick himself out of my arms as I am turning on the water. He is too young to be entertained by TV or music, so the only way you can soothe him is by rocking him in your arms. Of course, while you are doing that, you aren't getting anything done. I mean, you could shower while he is sleeping, but trust me, while he is sleeping, you would want to sleep too.
I love Isaiah, but I see now why the old folks say it takes a village to raise a child. If it takes a village to raise one, you need at least a small army to babysit. My army consists of my two brothers, who are all in with helping me with the baby until they rather do anything else like play a video game or space out. They hold him wrong and put his diaper on baggy.
I worked at a daycare, and I don't remember ever being this tired working with those kids. I guess it is different when the child isn't related to you and there are three certified teachers watching your back.
I get very irritated with my brothers for not being as supportive as I feel that they could be on babysitting days, but I am outright mad at those Instagram moms. Yes, the IG moms, pushing their strollers in yoga pants while drinking a tummy tea out of some type of a clear jug. Last night, Isaiah threw up down my nightshirt. Where is that picture?
Today is my last day of babysitting. If I type quietly while he is sleeping, I may be able to get in two more posts. #newauntyseason