The one thing I refused to do was change diapers. Ew, gross. Get that thing away from me! But since becoming an aunt for the first time 11 years ago, nothing else has been off-limits. I’ve hosted sleepovers and scrambled eggs, helped pick out clothes for the morning, held hands while crossing the street, read bedtime stories, and played a thousand games of hide and seek. I’ve also enforced bedtimes, and taken away electronics as a form of punishment. And, OMG, they’re not even teenagers yet.
The irony is that I never considered myself a “kid person.” You know that maternal, sympathetic feeling women get when they see infants all snuggled on an airplane? My first thought is, “That child better not be sitting next to me.” Way back in high school, I volunteered to babysit strictly as a money-grab. And yet I feel confident in saying — no, insisting! — that being a devoted aunt to my nephew, Ryan, and niece, Leah, has given me special insight into the minds of kids. Before you roll your eyes, parents, let me just add that I get it. I’m not around them 24-7. I’m just the fun, fly-by, childless (child-free?) relative who opts in whenever I feel like it. And that’s exactly my point. My kiddie-spidey senses are heightened.
Living 500 miles from the kids automatically puts me at a disadvantage. So when I do travel home, I ensure that quality trumps quantity. I put down my phone in their presence and tinker with writing assignments during off-peak hours. I don’t allow myself to press the snooze button, either, which is part of my regular morning regimen. Somehow the kids always wake up alert and ready to go, and providing my undivided attention entices them to engage with me beyond monosyllabic words. They know they can tell me silly jokes or dramatic anecdotes, and I will listen and ask follow-up questions. I also offer the same irreverent quips I give to my friends because, well, I don’t know any other way.
Frankly, I just can’t afford the time for drawn-out lectures about why they need to finish their vegetables. And I try not to snap at them — unless they really have it coming, because what’s the point in hurt feelings when the clock is ticking? Somehow, I’ve become impervious to temper tantrums and sibling fights in the back seat of the car. I recently visited one of my mom-friends, and she was amazed by my long-fused attitude when her sons started fighting about iPad usage. “They’ve been terrors lately,” she said apologetically. I replied with a shoulder shrug. I was used to it. Kids fight.