okay so just got back from my younger sister’s baby shower which was, like, a whole thing, obviously. it was kind of wild seeing her with this HUGE bump, you know, sort of glowing. and then everyone’s oooh-ing and aaah-ing over the tiny clothes and the tiny shoes and there’s this general vibe of like, the future, i guess. and then someone hands me the new nephew, who is just a few weeks old, not even, just a tiny little bundle. and he’s warm and soft and smells like milk and baby powder and i’m just holding him, sort of swaying a little, and he’s SO small. i remember holding my own kids like that, just tiny and dependent. anyone else ever get that blast from the past kind of feeling when you hold a newborn? it’s almost overwhelming sometimes. and then my mom, you know, my mom. she sort of sidles up and she’s looking at me holding the baby, and then she looks at my sister, and then she looks back at me. and she sighs, this really LOUD sigh, and she says, "well, it's a good thing [sister's name] is so fertile. with [my name] being the eldest and, you know..." and she just sort of trails off. but the implication, you know, it hangs there. like, thanks for not continuing the family line, eldest daughter. thanks for breaking the chain. and i’m still holding this absolutely perfect tiny human, who is breathing softly in my arms, completely oblivious to all this ancient family drama. and i just sort of nod, sort of smile. what are you even supposed to say to that? "sorry i didn't pop out more grandkids, mother, my bad"? it’s just weird, you know. i’m 35, a teacher, i have a good life, i guess. i have kids, they’re older, they’re off doing their own thing, they’re good kids. but it’s like my entire identity, or what my mom perceives as my identity, is tied up in this one thing. this thing i didn’t even necessarily choose NOT to do, it just sort of… happened. or didn’t happen, i suppose. and i’m sitting here now, it’s like 2am, and i should be studying for this midterm on medieval lit but i just keep replaying that moment. the baby in my arms, my mom’s sigh, the unfinished sentence. it makes you feel like… i don’t know. like an incomplete thought, maybe. and it gets into your head, sort of. all these other things. i’m back in school, which is great, i love learning, but there’s this constant pressure, you know? all these younger students, so bright, so quick. and i’m trying to keep up, trying to prove i’m not just some old lady taking up space. and then you have this on top of it. this reminder that you failed at some fundamental, biological level, according to the person who literally gave you life. am i the only one who feels like they’re constantly being measured against some invisible yardstick by their parents, even now? like, when does that stop? i just wish sometimes… i don’t know. that the expectations would just sort of dissolve. that i could just be, without all this baggage. i mean, i’m perfectly happy for my sister, truly. she’s gonna be an amazing mom. but the way it highlights everything else… it’s just a lot. and now i really do have to go read about the norman conquest or something. but the baby’s smell is still sort of lingering on my shirt sleeve, and so is that sigh. it’s probably going to be a long night.