That my sister is pregnant means that I, Healthy Ezmy, am going to be an aunt. Which is exciting…but frightening. I have heaps of aunts, you see, a couple of whom I’m quite close to and most of whom I hold in very high regard. The close ones in particular have always seemed so wise, so cool, so…grown up. Well you see where this is going. I’m on Day Four of the Healthy Ezmy experiment – Day Four of being an actual grown up person who does responsible things like look after her physical person by not getting smashed on Monday evenings, not counting vegan jellybeans as a fruit serving, and not shooting coffee into her veins. Day Four people! Granted, when Lady H. has Little H., nine (hopefully) successful months of the Healthy Ezmy experiment will have gone by but still. Furthermore, I’m not cool and I’m certainly not wise. Damnit, this fetus has forced me to realize that I am just not the kind of aunt I always thought I’d be. Aunt Ezmy, in my mind, lived in a cool house in the city (any city), had a cool job, was put together and wore cool clothes, and knew all the cool toys. I know nothing about what kids like these days. Sponge Bob? Pokemon? I’m going to have to do some research. I certainly don’t have a cool house – well, I live in a nifty apartment but it’s not mine. I think I have a cool job but no child is going to think that. I read books. On ethics. Yawners, says my little niece/nephew. And I’m certainly not pulled together. I’ve been wearing the same jeans since 2003.
And I know what you’re all thinking. None of this matters. The kid won’t care. And you are, of course, correct. But I don’t care. The idea that a small child is going to look to me for guidance and advice is frightening.