By the time I became an aunt, I was in time of change in my life. I was single, in my late 30’s and had bought my own apartment in Surry Hills. I worked in sales for a global HR firm, had a great bunch of mates and was living a healthy and happy life. In the back of everything, I was in search of him. I knew I’d find him someday.
After my divorce I had several relationships. The experience of these helped me define what I wanted and didn’t want in a relationship and, over time, led me to my true north. Well, for the most part.
I changed jobs. Had fabulous holidays with girlfriends … and on my own. I craved a challenge and I was in search.
Through all of this I saw Annie as much as I could. I looked forward to our weekends in my apartment, just hanging out together in the city. Having Annie with me changed things. For one, I couldn’t live my typical single life I’d become accustomed to. Bottles of wine in the fridge were obscured by bottles of milk. In fact, I wouldn’t drink at all. My slightly catastrophic way of thinking would take me to a place of, ’what if something happened and I had to get to her to a doctor or hospital in the middle of the night and I had drunk too much and was pulled over by the police and ended up in a police cell waiting to be bailed out…all with a 6 month old and a bag of nappies and a stuffed toy called BabyDoll?’
Was I going to explain that to my sister at 3.45am? Not a hope in hell. That was never going to happen.
Once when I had Annie for the weekend, I made plans to meet one of my girlfriends for breakfast at Woolloomooloo Wharf – down by the Sydney harbor. Now getting Annie, or any of the kids pre-toddler age for that matter, to or from my car required a military plan. My apartment was on the top floor of a three-story walk up from the garage, so I ultimately decided that the best approach was to leave the kid in my apartment, laying on the floor, sandbagged by pillows and cushions so they couldn’t move or roll anywhere, and then run like crazy down to the car to pack the bags and then back up to my apartment to grab the kid. I would be stressed the entire time of this maneuver, praying to God that nothing would happen to them, ‘please, don’t let them choke on something on the floor or smother themselves on a cushion. Damn, did I pack them too close to her?’ And every time, without fail, I would open the door, trying to be calm but gasping for breath, only to see a smiling baby lying there – having barely moved.
In this instance, I managed to get both Annie, nappies, food, the bottle, and the pram packed into my car. The unloading process when I arrived was another story. Between assembling the pram, keeping the watching eye on the kid, and dodging Sydney traffic, I was sweating.
I remember that day my friend was really struggling with something. I can’t remember now what it was about. But I remember Annie. My friend was speaking to me earnestly. She had a lot on her mind. And I was there for her. And, the whole time, there was Annie. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, in her pram. She was looking at me with her bright, wide eyes. Smiling. Trying to catch my attention. I remember feeling I was neglecting her in that moment to be there for my friend.
What I wanted to do was talk to Annie. She was so animated and responsive – she was no more than 10 months old. She was curious. She could hear the noises from the café and wanted to sit up and be at the table with the big girls.
My friend walked me back to the car, Annie in the pram. When it came time to pack Annie into the baby capsule, we couldn’t get the pram collapsed again. We tried. I called my brother-in-law and asked him to talk us through the steps. No way was I was calling Trina – I had received that message loud and clear! Families drove past, watching us and nodding knowingly.
All my friend and I could do was laugh and laugh and I am pretty sure I wet myself – the madness of it all. A pram that refused to comply to the will of two very smart and capable women.
When we got back to my apartment, I gave Annie my full and undivided attention. Inwardly, I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again. I loved my girlfriends enormously, but I knew then that when I was with Annie, I was with her. Annie smiled at me. She knew.
–
It was October and my sister, Bindi, was getting married. Trina, her partner Brett, and Annie were all staying with me for the wedding. Annie was only was around 6-7 months old. On the day of, I brought Annie into my room with me to give her parents a break and space to get ready for the wedding. I was on the floor in front of my full-length bedroom mirror putting on my makeup, giving up my bathroom for my sister. Annie, in her singlet and nappy (diaper), was beside me – heavily propped by pillows. I felt a little hand on my knee. Annie was watching me get ready, her little face focused on my reflection. Her soft hand atop my left thigh. I didn’t think of her as a baby in a singlet. I just looked at her as just my niece, in her ‘underwear’ – not yet ready to put her good dress on. Maybe another adult wouldn’t see a baby that way, but I did. As a little human – small but still just a person who hadn’t fully grown up yet.
But she was getting there. In the very early days when she stayed with me, she slept on the floor of my bedroom – padded by duvets and blankets, covered with a sheet. I would barely sleep, convinced she would roll over and suffocate on the sheet. The slightest sound and I would wake, fumbling in the dark to feel for her chest to make sure it was still going up and down. I needed sleep. I bought a cot. I couldn’t live in fear of her dying of asphyxiation from sisal carpet threads.
I paid $200 for a traveling cot that has lasted the distance. I had no idea what to look for. I wanted something strong, safe, and easy to store. But, like the pram, the cot was hard to disassemble. I always struggled with it – particularly when it came to packing up after the visit. I would repeatedly fight to push in, pull up the base and collapse the sides at the same time. Impossible. On many occasions it would stay assembled in the second bedroom days after Annie had gone home.
It was a sad sight. An empty cot. It reminded me of what I didn’t have. Seeing it would make me cry.
———
I was single but I was looking for a relationship.
I always struggled with the balance of work – and the rest of my life. I have always put too much energy into work and it clouded my balance. But finding the right person was something on my mind. Something that was always there. I’ve had only a few premonitions in my life, but they’ve been powerful. One of them was about who I’d end up with. I would ‘see’ him in my mind. Standing slightly behind me and to the left. He was tall and stood very straight. He had a big head. I hoped.
By the time Annie was one, I was 40 years old. Time was passing quickly, and I knew that the chances of having a child of my own were diminishing by the year. Nevertheless, I still had hope.
My sister Bindi became pregnant with her first child. This baby was a long time coming and she was ecstatic to be pregnant. I was so happy for her and her husband. We all were.
She’d been told her due date and as that time approached, she kept the details to herself, not telling anyone ahead of time when her baby was scheduled to be born. I get it. She wanted the experience of calling everyone to say the baby was here. It was close to the anticipated arrival and I was planning on going away for a weekend. I asked Bindi if it was safe for me to leave or if this would be the fateful weekend. She would not let me know, telling me that it was my choice to make. I didn’t know what to make of that.
So I went. I got to my destination on Friday afternoon. On Saturday morning, I got a message – my new niece, Ayla Noelene, had been born.
My flight home wasn’t until Sunday night so when I arrived back at Sydney airport, I ran to my car, calling my brother-in-law on the way to see if it wasn’t too late to come to the Hospital. There was some hesitance as it was nearly the end of visiting hours. I was determined to get there as quickly as I could. I drove straight to the hospital without stopping. I just walked in, ignoring the front desk, acting like I had been there for some time. Once past the desk, I ran to the room. An illicit visitor.
In the hospital room, Bindi was lying in bed. I hugged and kissed her and gently teased her for not telling me to stay home and letting me go on my trip. And then I saw her. Ayla. She had a shock of black hair. She had her father Sam’s coloring – a beautiful contrast to our family’s fair hair and blue eyes. I asked to hold her and the first thing I did was unwrap her. As she lay there, only one day old, she moved her arms and stretched. I said ‘she’s perfect.’ And she was.
—
It was close to 9.30pm and I drove home and cried. Because I was happy. So happy for Bindi. Happy to have another niece. Happy to be able to have two of them now in my life. Happy to be Aunty Tan – again. I couldn’t wait to get to know this new creature. Who was she? And who would she grow up to be?
Like I’d done with my sister Trina, I tried to help Bindi as best I could. I paid for a full house clean so that when they came home from hospital the house was looked after …for a little while at least.
I tried to be an extra set of hands to clean, an extra set of arms to hold the baby. And I tried to remain respectful of space for her and Sam.
I would watch my sisters and their own way of being mums. I remember one day Ayla was still very young when she developed an infected throat. Bindi literally nursed her all day as Ayla dribbled all over her because it was so painful to swallow. Bindi was absolutely drenched with Ayla’s saliva when I arrived to help at the end of the day.
I’d look at my sisters, both tired from late nights and trying to maintain their homes, cook, shop and in time, return to work. I’d look at their faces and see my face in theirs, sometimes. There was a sameness there. And yet, sometimes we were worlds apart. These children between us connected us together. Annie and Ayla, both of different mothers but sharing an aunt. Sharing me. Sharing my love.
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