I'm an Auntie!

I found out this morning that my little sister has safely delivered her first newborn little girl today. She is so happy. You can hear the little coos through the phone. There is not enough time in the world for her to fawn over this new little creature in her life. The world is wonderful, life is good, and the proud Papa has gone home to catch up on the sleep he missed last night. Baby Liesel gets more and more beautiful the more she looks at her. She is in utter, and complete, love.

How can I say this? It's like talking to someone who just got engaged. If you say anything negative, they think you're just bitter and ill-suited to marriage. After all, their partner is perfect, life is wonderful, love is in the air, and why can't everyone be so happy? Their true love brings them flowers, opens the door, pays strict attention to everything they say, and goes out of their way to make them happy. It's wonderful, yes, but, to be a bit pessimistic, it's just not REAL! It does not go on endlessley that way. The veneer will crack. And as sure as men leave socks and shoes all over the house, watch ESPN and leave their dishes out, this kid is going to throw you for a loop!

Do you pop that bubble? Actually say out loud, "Yes, sleep deeply - because it'll be the last time you do so for a VERY long time . . ."? Or, "Write down how cute their little coo-cry is now, so that when it gets louder, and goes on for a couple of hours, at least you can point to a time when it was cute?" I dunno. I'm caught between a blissful new family and my current reality.

Even while talking to my sister I'm having to pause, put my hand over the speaker and holler, "BEAR! Get OUT of the WATER!" I can hear it running, from somewhere. And because he dipped a beach towel in the toilet this morning and then drug it sopping wet onto the carpet, to..to...MOLD or something, I am very wary of wet noises. Something is not right here, as I hear Danika utter, " . . . ooooooooooooohhhhhhh just adorable!"

Then I find it. While I was finishing my conversation with Danika, and looking for what my son had been doing, I discover that he has locked himself in the bathroom, so that he could take wads of wet toilet paper, (soaked in toilet water, - EW!) and huck them up on the bathroom wall until they got stuck there. As in, I would have to reach up high to get some of the wads down. And I REALLY REALLY don't want to right now. . . *checks watch to see when dad will be home to be equally horrified - and what my odds are of foisting the cleaning job off on him - he is taller than me after all, and I'm 9 months pregnant.*

How do you bridge this differential gap? Maybe Sesame Steet has the answer, "Letter B, Letter B! Ah Letter B, Letttter B, ah Buh Buh Buh Buh Buh Buh Buh Buh, Letter B, Letter B."