old mom

My little sister has birthed a baby.  
A little girl named Aviana Jaye. She is so tiny, so loud. 
 I never worried once about getting Baby Fever. Unless it is meant in the literal sense of a fever, accompanied by a headache and fatigue. Babies are not my jam. New moms have it really rough. Those first few weeks and months are pure hell. 
But being a relative is nice. A relative with her own house to retreat to, with a whole night to sleep through. 
My sister arranged a Sip n See–something like a viewing party of the new baby. It was a dry party, but somehow people still came. I don’t know how moms manage without booze but apparently it is possible.
And even though I wasn’t the focal point of this trip to Portland, I managed to still make it about me and drag everyone along with me to Powell’s. I thought I was doing well, only carrying books: no cart, no basket. But I still managed to spend two bills. Me and bookstores don’t mix. Or mix too well.
Amber and I walked around the mall and had puzzle races and played Sequence and got a little tipsy on screwdrivers made with the most disgusting ice cubes. So maybe moms can’t actually manage without booze.
It was nice to be near my family again, these people who have always known me. From the airplane, I saw two rainbows. I told my sister it was my promise to never have a baby again. Literal Baby Fever and all that.

And I returned to my own two babies, bigger now, thankful that those baby days are behind us.
I am an old mom, not a new one.

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