About a week ago, my sister did something amazing. Those of you with math skills and good memories already probably know, but those who do not may cheat here.  I wasn’t there for the delivery or anything horrifying like that, but I did get to go see the new and improved  G-pants Family (now with 50% more Pants!) very soon afterwards. Everyone was still a bit dazed and blinky for the next couple days, as expected, but it was nice and laid back — for me, not for them I’m sure — and a very fine way to welcome a new family member. I don’t even know how to articulate how much I love my sister, and to see her so brave and collected and mentally and physically strong was just almost more than my tiny heart could bear.

However.

Now I find myself wistfully thinking “I want that!” which is dangerous turf,  my friends. Dangerous indeed. For one thing, no one likes Baby Fever. It really doesn’t wear well.  It isn’t attractive OR polite to blather about babies when there isn’t one anywhere in the vicinity. (It isn’t nice to go on and on about babies when they are in the vicinity either, but that is more of a personal preference than an etiquette breach). More importantly I don’t really even want a baby. I don’t even really LIKE babies that much. And frankly I couldn’t be further away from having a baby at the moment. Hell, since we are being frank, I couldn’t be further away from having a hot date at the moment. So babies aren’t really on the agenda just yet. After some thought I realized that what I’m coveting isn’t really the baby, it’s the family unit. The display of partnership and teamwork and respect and support I witnessed at the hospital wasn’t surprising, but it was displayed in a way I’d not seen from them before and it really moved me. I’m crazy proud of Mrs. and Mr. G-pants and wish them the best, but I think I’ll always hold them responsible for being good role models and setting an example by which I’d like to live. Totally unforgivable.

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