My brother called me last night to discuss the rules.
The search is on to determine who will be the best aunt in the world. The contenders are me, my sister and my brother’s soon-to-be sister-in-law.
This was my brother’s clever and delightful way breaking the news that they are expecting.
Good manners and the fact that I love my brother dearly (even when he drives me dilly) dictate that I should be happy and enthusiastic for them. I’m hoping it sounded that way on the phone because one can only fake these things for so long.
Next month will make it a year from when him and I had the all important conversation. The conversation about living arrangements, our relationship and our plans for the future. We had it all worked out.
One year on and… nothing.
Turns out that conversation in the car on the long drive home wasn’t a plan so much as a pipe dream, along the same lines as when I dream I’m a princess or a dragon. The pictures are pretty and the colours are bright, that all but fade in the morning light.
For the record, the title has nothing really to do with this post, I was just searching around for a title and my eyes fell on the caramel-flavoured Marie’s on my desk.
Of the hundreds of blog posts in my head, that never make it to the screen, was one about a child and a career and how I wasn’t sure I could have both. Sure, we’re told we could do it all and have it all but unless you have a lot of money to afford it all, you might just have to settle for a kid and a job instead.
- a place or state of oblivion to which persons or things are regarded as being relegated when cast aside, forgotten, past, or out of date: My youthful hopes are in the limbo of lost dreams.
- a place or state of imprisonment or confinement.
It’s where I live. Maybe new curtains would make it look homelier.
I don’t want to be an aunt; the choice is not mine.