Funny little girl...

Here's my niece, Natalie.  I'm at my sister's house tonight babysitting whilst she and her husband are off for an overnight for the first time since this little one was born.  It's amazing to think that I can love someone almost as much as my own child, but I do, and what's more is there's guilt associated with the fact that I enjoy my time with the baby more than I enjoyed being mommy.  That makes perfect sense, of course, because my time with Natty is all about fun - it's not up to me to make sure she grows up to be a good person or that she gets an education or that she's well-nourished.  I get to be just fun; when she gets older, I can stuff her full of candy and say yes to her every whim, swing her by her feet until she's almost sick, and most of all, I can drop her off at home when she's sugar-crashing, and acting spoiled.  Woo hoo.   This is why people enjoy grandparent-hood so much: it's all the fun and none of the responsibility.  I can't believe the difference in that one detail (albeit a big one) and in that sense too, this child never ever gets on my nerves or does a single thing wrong.  I now understand how my parents, who were irritatingly sticky about rules and discipline when I was growing up, can't seem to ever utter the word "no" to my daughter; I get how they are completely in love with her and that she is never bratty or spoiled or cranky or difficult to them, even when she actually is being that way.  I remember my mother screaming at the top of her lungs at my brother, sister, and myself - three children under the age of 8 - telling us to be quiet, stop fighting, or she was going to give us all something to cry about, and she had no moral quandary about swinging first and asking questions later.  Even if you got an undeserved smack, in her opinion it was only undeserved at that moment and it all came out in the wash.  Not that we were mistreated or beaten, even by today's bizarre phobic standards, but I lived in abject fear of my mother until I was well into my teens and to watch her now, you'd never know she even had children, and if she did, they must be horribly spoiled brats somewhere from all of her over-indulgences.  She even scolds me for correcting my daughter gently, saying things like "oh, just let her be" - who is this woman?

Nevertheless, I get it; my sister called tonight to ask me if Natty was doing okay, and asked if she had been fussy.  It occurred to me that I didn't know; if she was fussy, I didn't notice, and we've had a great time.  In the car, Natty has decided that for some reason, she cannot wear her shoe or sock on her right foot; why this is hysterically funny to me and irritating to my sister is now perfectly clear.  Natty will be one in the next couple of weeks, and she is pure delight if you ask me; 'course I'm a bit biased...