- My mother had two children in their early twenties.
- She decided to test the waters about having another child in her 40s and brought our niece over.
- My mother didn’t end up having a third child, and I feel a little guilty about it.
My mother had my brother and me when she was in her early twenties. By the time she was in her forties, she longed for more children. Maybe she missed the sleepless nights, the dirty diapers, and the toys strewn everywhere. Or maybe she looked at my brother and me and thought, These two turned out great – why not try a third?
Anyway, I’ll never forget the day she decided that tests the waters of motherhood again, with the help of our young niece, Amber, as what can only be described as a test drive.
Our niece was a threat
Amber wasn’t a baby when she was used for this experiment, but when she was four years old, she was young enough to be a threat.
My brother and I then teenagers who are comfortable in our world of fear and independence, were shocked. Teenagers, especially siblings, don’t really agree, but we were united in our resentment of this six-foot-tall intruder.
Amber was thrown into our living room like an alien dropped into a new galaxy, navigating her surroundings in wide-eyed wonder, touching everything her sticky hands could reach, including our father’s untouchable marble chess set.
When Amber realized there were no real consequences, she planted her sticky fingers throughout the rest of the house. Her giggling pin paws darted from room to room, including mine. That’s where I drew the line. My room was my sanctuary, protected by “DO NOT ENTER” signs, which even my brother respected. It’s clear that Amber couldn’t read.
“Hi!” I shouted, leaning over her like a moose staring at a mouse. “Amber is in my room!” I shouted at my mother.
Amber looked up at me and grinned as if she hadn’t committed a capital crime. She was holding one of mine compact discsas she smeared her child’s slime over the shiny surface.
“Amber is in my room!” I screamed again, with the resentment only a teenager can muster.
My mother appeared out of nowhere and picked up Amber like a precious artifact, not a walking tornado. “She wants to play with you, Janine,” my mother said.
We have come up with a plan
Play? I was too old to play. I had adult responsibilities: researching the best new music, building my wardrobedeciphering the mysteries of my latest crush, and, oh yeah, doing my homework. I didn’t have time for a toddler invading my space, let alone my life.
Just as I was regaining some composure, I heard my brother’s voice echoing through the house: “Mom! Amber is interrupting my game!’ He ripped the cables of his video game controller from her small, vice-like grip, causing her to fall to the ground in tears.
That was the moment my brother and I united against this common enemy. We have come up with a plan to… get rid of the child.
First, we completely ignored her. We walked by as she held up a toy, looking her way but never making eye contact. Then we made “games” for her: Amber, hide mom’s beautiful candlesticks in the kitchen cupboards; Amber, throw the clean laundry in the bathtub; Amber, bring us your muddy boots, we’ll shake them out inside. It was cruel, I know. But even with every joke, Amber still came out on top.
We saw it clearly in phase three of our ‘master plan’, where we recruited the family dog to bark and deter her. But Amber just barked back – and before we knew it, she and Buster were curled up together taking a nap. My mother thought it was cute.
When we woke up the next morning, Amber was gone. Maybe it was our continued resistance, or maybe it was the realization that teenagers are a full-time job, but my mother decided to return Amber to her parents and focus on us, her attention-seeking teenagers.
Although Amber’s stay was short, it had an unexpected effect: it brought my brother and me closer together. Instead of cranky teenagers, we started acting like a family again: we had family dinners together instead of hiding in our rooms and even hanging out in public with Mom.
Looking back, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. Have our antics caused our mother to miss the opportunity for more motherhood adventures? Maybe. One thing’s for sure: I probably owe her a few grandkids.
