I’m Looking Forward to my Sister’s Misery as a Mom.
By: Gwenna Laithland
Tags: Baby, Parenting, Children, Family, Sisters

My sister, Miranda, gave birth about two weeks ago, a year behind my doing the same. My beautiful 8lb 4oz niece entered the world, 362 days after my twins were born in 2018.

I’m excited for Miranda on every level. She and her husband, like me and mine, tried for years before finally managing a baby. The pregnancy wasn’t the easiest. Baby Girl, whom we’ve taken to calling Pumpkin due to an adorably round face and a hefty bit of jaundice, has had a rough entrance into this world. Funky kidneys, immature lungs, stubborn blood sugar, a brief stay in NICU, and Pumpkin is overcoming like a champ. So is Miranda. It warms my heart to see my little sister so enthralled and strong.

That said, every inch of me is dying for the plain, boring, miserable days of infancy to set in at my baby sister’s house. I cannot wait to see the woman suffer. It sounds cruel. And sisters can be incredibly wicked to each other, sure. But hear me out.

My husband and I just exited that first, horrible, wonderful, tiring, enlivening year. We did it with two at a time, but in the thick of it it doesn’t matter if you have one or one hundred; 2 a.m. screams for no reason fray every nerve.

I would love to be a fly on the wall on those wee morning hours when my sister is at her wit’s end. I want to watch her face as she questions every life decision that brought her to that moment. Because I vividly remember doing the same. I cannot wait to find her on my doorstep, half-dressed and sporting bags under her eyes bigger than Pumpkin’s unchanged diaper. It wasn’t that long ago I did the same to her. I‘m eager for her misery, her frustration, her exhaustion to take over everything. My memories of that weariness are fresh but healing.

The infant stage feels interminable. It seems as if the crying will never end. You know they’ll never learn how to self-soothe. You are positive it will never stop and that this is what will, ultimately, kill you — rocking a not-hungry, not-wet, not-tired, not-happy baby on the floor of a nursery.

If we’re being honest, I am looking forward to watching my sister deal with Pumpkin’s first year on a shallow, petty, misery-loves-company level. We are still sisters, after all. We still crack up every time one falls over, and we are in our thirties. But we also are the first to be there to pick each other up.

I’ll mercilessly tease my sister for the bags under her eyes and the drool stain she left on my pillow. But only after I let her take a much-needed nap while I handle my niece. I’ll snort with knowing pleasure when that precious, sweet Pumpkin violently unloads waste from every possible orifice at the same time. And then I’ll hand her the wipes and start cleaning the literal crap off the ceiling fan.

Many sisters don’t get the chance to reciprocate sisterly love almost exactly moment for moment.

I do. Miranda was there for me during my twins’ first year, pregnant for a good chunk of it and never once questioning my needs or requests. Miranda gave me naps and food. She gave me hugs and let me cry frustrated exhausted tears. She made me laugh and she let me be angry at nothing.

Now it's my turn.

I cannot wait for her to reach those stages not because I want her to suffer, but because I’m right here to tell her, “This too shall pass.” I’m excited to gently remind her, either with words, actions, or simple presence that it gets better, it was worth it, she will survive Pumpkin’s first year, and that her big sister loves her.