The Po Show

Happy Birthday

Today is my niece Jennifer's birthday. She is 33 years old. It seems impossible to me that I have a niece who is 33 years old. I was 8 years old when she was born, bewildered that my sister (9 days away from turning 18 on the day she became a mother), so recently my playmate and babysitter, was now married with a baby herself.

Jennifer was my parents' first grandchild. Perhaps internally they were worried and fretful that their teenage daughter had a baby to care for, but externally they seemed very glad. She was an absolutely lovely baby. People asked me if I was jealous (why do people have to do that?) and I remember saying, "Yes, a little." I asked my sister if she had been jealous when I was born (she was 10, and had been the baby of the family for a long time). She wryly answered, "No, I think I liked you better than anybody."

When she was around a year old, they started letting me babysit Jennifer at night. My sister and her husband would go out with their friends, and leave me, a 9 year old, with a baby. They wouldn't stay out terribly late; in fact I can't even remember how late, but I can't imagine it was past 9 or so. Jennifer was supposed to be sleeping anyway, though often she would cry. Sometimes I'd pick her up and change her diaper (cloth diapers with big, ducky-shaped diaper pins in those days!) or let her sit with me, but sometimes I'd just ignore her and keep reading. Once my sister came home and the baby was crying and when she carried her out, Jennifer was hiccuping with sobs and saying, "Dink, dink, dink..." over and over. She'd wanted a drink of water. I felt like a total shit. Now of course I am APPALLED that that kind of responsibility was placed in my 9 year old hands.

Today is also my nephew Danny's birthday. He is 24 years old and my brother's oldest boy. He was a miracle baby, conceived after nine years of infertility, a Pergonal baby back in the Dark Ages of reproductive medicine. The day he was born I was nursing a cold and studying for the SAT, which was coming up in a couple of days. I don't think I've ever seen such a look of sheer joy on my father's face as when we got the call that the baby was a boy. He had three grandchildren, including his first grandson (he bought my sister a diamond watch when he was born; she got zip for the first two granddaughters), but this was his heir.

Jennifer turned 9 the day Danny was born. She and my sister came over that evening, and my sister quietly said that Jennifer was feeling a little neglected because the baby had been born on her birthday. My dad made a huge show of sitting next to her and hugging her and giving her big kisses on the cheek, but you could tell she wasn't entirely buying it. I gave her the present I'd bought her, the Borrower series, and she bravely looked them over and commented on the cute illustrations.

I went away to college before Danny turned one, and I never babysat him or his two brothers much. They were the second grouping of my siblings' children, with my sister's three known as "the Kids" and my brother's three known as "the Boys." They were the children of my family, and they grew, and now "the Kids" are the next generation, my nieces' children.

Danny, Jennifer, and I span 17 years. We are markers of my family. I am the last child of my parents, and they are the first children of theirs. Time and birthdays march on.