by: Angela D.
Published in the Decatur Herald and Review’s ‘Prairie Talk’ column January 27, 1998
When I was in fifth grade, my sister Michelle came home from college one day and announced she was going to have a baby. I had never been so excited in my entire life. She moved back into our house so we could help her out. A few months into her pregnancy, her doctor performed an ultrasound and told her that she was going to have a six-pound baby girl.
Well, that made me even more excited. My sister was nine years older than I was, and I thought it would be pretty neat to have a little girl around the house. We could play dress-up, have tea parties, and play with all my old toys. My parents were becoming eager for the new baby’s arrival, as well. I knew they were looking forward to spending time with their first granddaughter.
Early on the morning of September 16, 1991, my mother came into my room and awakened me, saying that my sister’s water had broken. Of course, at that point in my life, I had no idea what she meant, but then she told me she had to drive my sister to the hospital because the baby was on her way into the world.
Unfortunately for me, I had to go to school that day. All day long, I fidgeted and jumped around anxiously, announcing to all the kids in the junior high that my sister was having a baby and that I was going to be an aunt. At the time, I thought I was really something because I was only eleven years old and I was going to have a little niece to look after. I called home twice from school that day to ask my dad if my niece had been born yet, and twice he told me that, no, she hadn’t.
When my father came to pick me up from school, I nearly died from excitement. I was sure he was going to take me straight to the hospital to see the new little girl. That’s when he informed me that my sister was still in labor. By this time, I was quite frustrated. Every time the phone rang that night, I was certain it was going to be my mom calling to tell us our new baby’s name and how much she weighed.
Mom never called. By ten that night, my dad reminded me I still had school the next day, and sent me off to bed.
I did so, disappointed as I was. At 11:30 that night, my father came into my room. “Angie,” he whispered. “Your sister had her baby.”
“What did she name her?” I asked, immediately awake.
“His name is Nicholas Maxwell. He’s nine pounds and one ounce.”
It took me a moment to comprehend what my father had just told me. I didn’t have a niece after all. Another boy in our family. I groaned, convinced the next several years of my life were completely ruined. I went back to sleep.
By morning, I was still certain that this new member of my family would not like me, and that I would not like him, either. However, that didn’t stop me from wishing that the school day would end so I could go take a look at this new kid. When the day ended, Dad picked me up from school and drove us immediately to the hospital. We went to the nursery and I pressed my nose up against the glass, scanning the names for the Williams’ baby.
Nicholas was wide-awake, but he wasn’t crying. He had lots of thick black hair and the most beautiful, enchanting blue eyes I’d ever seen. I remember the breath catching in my throat as I saw him for the first time.
At that moment, standing there, looking down at my nephew, I knew that I would love him as if he were my own child.
I still do.
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