Megan Stielstra's Blog

My stepbrother Greg and sister-in-law Mary just had a little girl, Olive, which A. makes me officially an Aunt (which I never knew I'd be, 'cause I'm an only child, and Christopher is an only child, but this is 2008, and there are all sorts of definitions for family. Blood or marriage or years or love, and, yes, when my friends get around to having babies I'll have nieces and nephews all over the place [I'm not going to call any of you out, like I'm your mother saying WHERE ARE MY GRANDCHILDREN, but you know who you are coughcoughdialottamandajeffmichael whoops! Apparently I DID call you out! My bad!], but Olive is officially my first and B. I get to buy cute little girl clothes (NOT pink, Mary, I know) (Dear Children's Fashion Designers: What is UP with all the cute girls clothes and not so much for the boys? Can you please make something that doesn't have a soccer ball or a truck stenciled on it? Thanks very much) (that said, I might have accidentally bought these for Caleb which he can't wear for a year at least, but, I mean, come ON! Are you DYING of the cuteness?).

Dear Olive,

You live far away in Portland, so we can't rush over to give you kisses, or smoke cigars with your dad, or hold you for a while so your mom can take a nap (or drink a martini or two or five. Later, of course, when she's ready). But know how much we love you, and how excited we are to meet you. Maybe at Christmas we'll get you and Caleb lots of cardboard boxes from the grocery store and build some forts, and when you come to Chicago we'll go to Baby Loves Disco. I know your dad said I have to keep Caleb away from you (since you two aren't related by blood, and your dad doesn't trust boys because he's a boy himself. Also, he's from Alaska, and is going to be one of those big scary dads with a shotgun telling you you can't date til you're thirty [I know a thing or two about having a dad with a shotgun, Olive. Your Grandpa Darc once passed out this sheet titled Application to Date My Daughter (although, in his defense, the guy he gave it to was pretty nasty), and he once took your Uncle Christopher out "rabbit hunting." What I'm saying is, if your dad won't let that boy you like--the one with the dreamy eyes--talk to you on the phone or make you mix tapes, you call up Aunt Megan and I'll tell you how to sneak out the back window, 'kay? Don't tell your dad I said that. Don't tell your grandpa I said that, either) but that's not for many, many years, til the two of you are big, listening to awful pop music and ignoring your parents, and there's all sorts of fun we'll all have between then and now. I can't wait to get started!

Tell your mom to be nice to herself, okay?

Much love,
Your Aunt and Uncle and Caleb (Caleb can't talk yet but if he could he'd say you're a doofus).