She Found Me, and I Was Undone

It was all over when I first saw her. 

 You see, I’ve never felt particularly drawn to babies, or children of any kind, really. They cry, they are somehow always sticky, and they leave a trail of destruction wherever they go — essentially a perpetual, bad frat party. But my niece changed that for me. And I can’t go back.

 When I walked into my sister’s hospital room after my niece was born, the unconditional love in the air was thick. I almost choked as I took a seat on the bench next to the bed. I looked up at Catherine and she seemed different to me than the older sister I had grown up with. No, it wasn’t the huge bags under her eyes or her extremely greasy hair. Though, that was particularly shocking for me to see since I have considered her the pretty sister. No, through my newfound but completely misplaced satisfaction, I saw her and she was… happy, just staring at this baby in her arms, stroking it with a natural rhythm. 

 Are you ok?, I thought. Should the nurse, like, down your meds?

 “Do you want to hold her?” my sister asked.

 “Um, oh my god, yeah.” Not knowing exactly what to do, I figured that was the traditional response when you’re asked to hold your only sibling’s first child. 

 I sat up straight and put a pillow under my arms in preparation for the task ahead. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? My brother-in-law Josh placed the kid gently in my arms. She was tiny but surprisingly… dense. All wrapped up in her pink and blue striped blanket, she reminded me of the Chipotle burrito I had for lunch.

 I started to sweat.

 Should I cradle my arms or, like, wrap them around her? I’m gonna crush her.

 How exactly am I supposed to “support her head?” Is it gonna snap off and roll across the floor?

 Wait, my hand is stuck.

 Ok. Forgetting to breathe. Breathe…

 Can babies smell fear?

 Then, suddenly, she opened her eyes. And everything… stopped. My heart slowed. Her eyes rolled around a little bit at first, but she eventually found me. And I looked back, deep into her small, beautiful eyes.

 She looked at me but could only see a stranger. I looked at her and could see everything she is and would become.

She blinked, and I saw her. I saw her running around Catherine’s backyard kicking the yellow dandelions while her curly blonde hair bounced on her shoulders. I heard her giggle and I could feel the warm summer air.

She blinked again, and I saw her again. I watched her score her first soccer goal, and I heard our cheers from the bleachers. I felt the wetness of her tears as I comforted her first heartbreak. I saw her walk across the wooden stage of her college graduation. And I felt my own tears, of gratitude, as she thanked her favorite aunt during her Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech. 

It was beautiful. 

“Hi, Genna,” I whispered close so only she could hear. “I’m Liz. Your aunt. And I love you.”

She blinked again, and I was undone.

That day, March 10, 2015, lit a fire inside me I had not known. But I definitely recognized it over the last two years. Like when Genna woke up crying from a nap, and I sat with her in the rocking chair to calm her down. She held onto me while her tears dried.

And I felt it on her second birthday when, from across my sister’s house, Genna reached straight into my chest and zapped my cold, hardened heart. 

“Leesh,” she said. Honestly, I thought she sneezed.  

“Liz! Your niece is calling you,” Catherine said, interjecting as translator. Genna tacked on another “Leesh" for confirmation. 

I turned around and there she was, staring up at me with her big, beautiful blue eyes and her curly blonde hair falling softly around her face. She looked right at me, and she saw me.  

I had known what it was to love. But only in the “I love you but still really hate you for stealing my sweater” kind of way that you love your only sister. I didn’t know what it was to truly, irrevocably, and unconditionally love another person, especially a kid. And I had no idea that it was possible to truly, irrevocably, and unconditionally love a kid who wasn’t even yours. 

But now I do. And it’s all over. And I can never go back.