I don't even know if this counts as a confession, really. It's not a big deal, I guess, but it’s been bothering me. Like, really bothering me, for days now. I went to my younger sister’s baby shower last weekend. She’s due in like, two months, and everyone was just… gushing. Which, fine, she’s excited, it’s her first. And it was a nice shower, lots of little tiny clothes and pastel everything. My mom went all out, obviously. At some point, my sister’s friend, she’d just had her baby a few weeks ago, she asked if I wanted to hold him. He was so, so small. Like, just a little bundle, barely there. He had this little fuzzy head and he was making these tiny little grunting noises. And I held him, really carefully, cradled him like they show you in the movies, and he just… settled in. His little fingers curled around mine. He was warm. And I just kind of looked at him, and for a second, I felt something. Something soft. Not like, a deep maternal instinct, I don’t think, but just… a quietness. Like he was a tiny, perfect, peaceful thing in my arms. And then my mom came over. She patted my arm, a little too hard, and looked at the baby. And then she looked at me. And she sighed. This long, drawn-out, dramatic sigh. And she said, almost to herself, but loud enough for me and the baby’s mom to hear, “Well, at least someone in the family is carrying on the line.” And then she looked at me again, with this… mournful look. Like I was a broken vase or something. I just… froze. I was still holding the baby, who was just cooing softly, completely oblivious. And I could feel my face get hot. I tried to just smile, like it was a joke, but my mouth felt stiff. I just nodded, a little too quickly. The baby’s mom gave my mom this weird look, but my mom just kept on. “Yes, so good to see new life. It’s just… you know, I always hoped the eldest daughter would…” And she trailed off, but the implication was so clear it might as well have been shouted. My sister, the younger one, the one having the baby, she’s always been the ‘sensible’ one. The one who did everything ‘right.’ Got married, got a house, getting a baby. And I’m just… me. I teach art. I love it, I really do. The kids, the way they see things, the messy paint, the glitter. It’s… beautiful. But it’s not exactly a path to a huge savings account, you know? And it’s not… practical. Not in the way my family thinks of things. I make enough to pay rent, mostly. Sometimes I have to pick up extra shifts at the gallery. My studio apartment is small. My canvases are piled in the corner. I have a lot of ideas, a lot of things I want to create, but it feels like I’m constantly just trying to keep my head above water. And holding that baby, feeling that soft, warm weight, and then hearing my mom just… dismiss me like that. Like my life, my choices, my passions, they’re just… less. Because I’m not bringing a grandchild into the world. Because I’m the 'wrong' kind of daughter. It just felt like a punch to the gut. I gave the baby back pretty quickly after that. Said I needed to help my sister with something. I just wanted to get away. I don't know. Am I overreacting? It’s not like she said anything explicitly mean. But that sigh. That look. It just… it felt like she was telling me, without saying a word, that I was a disappointment. That my life wasn't enough. That my creativity, the thing that feels most like *me*, is just a hobby I need to get over so I can start producing babies. And now, days later, I keep thinking about it. And it just makes me so ANGRY. Not at the baby, obviously. Not at my sister. Just… at the situation. At myself, maybe, for not having a better comeback. For just taking it. Anyone else ever feel like they’re just… failing some invisible scorecard? It’s stupid, I know. But it just felt so… dismissive. Like everything I am, everything I’m trying to be, just means nothing because I haven’t fulfilled this one specific expectation. And it’s exhausting.