Good Sisters

A very short post with plenty of adoration

My sister holding her 4-hour-old niece, my firstborn

My daughter wants a sister. There will be a 24 year-age-gap between her and the incoming sibling, and she is praying for a girl because she already has two brothers. Most people tell me I’m having a boy: something to do with the shape of my bump, or my penchant for Dairy Milk, or the fact that it doesn’t seem like the baby ‘in utero’ has stolen all my beauty. Doesn’t this last gender-guessing theory kind of suck on so many levels? That a mother-to-be’s dwindling beauty is up for discussion at all, and that a boy couldn’t suck someone of their beauty, too?

Anyway, as I creep towards my final days of pregnancy I am thinking mostly of my sister, and how grateful I am for her. She was born on a Thursday. I was left at my friend Melanie Martin’s house, while my parents took the trip to the local maternity hospital. In those days new mothers were welcome to stay a few nights, but it was a few days before Christmas, and my mum was the only one capable of cooking a turkey, and we were the only family in our larger family to have a table big enough for 20, so I think she decided to stay just the one night.

Melanie Martin’s dad took me to Mothercare in the local shopping centre and with the £10 note my father had given me I bought the sister I hadn’t met yet a maroon velour dress with a nylon lace ruff collar. I remember thinking it was the loveliest thing in the world, and wondering why, three months later, my mother still hadn’t dressed my sister in that dress.

It didn’t matter at all, though. My sister was the thing that gave me the greatest joy. I had two older brothers and a younger brother. Now, I was joined by one of my own.

So, when my daughter tells me she’s praying for a girl, I get it, 100%. For me, there has been nobody like my sister. I know that not everyone experiences this sense of closeness, but I also know plenty of friends who feel the same way I do: that a sister is the absolute best.

Things I love about mine:

· Her paintings

· Her children

· The way she can make any home or space look so beautiful – even a temporary rental. She’s like our mum in this way. I didn’t inherit that gene.

· Her generosity – with time, and food, and having us all over to her’s, even though we kind of take the place over

· The way she mostly listens, and only gives advice when she thinks it’s wanted, or valuable

· That her love of good, homemade cakes almost matches mine

· That her love for my children almost matches mine

I could go on, but these are points of adoration that appeared top of my mind today.

This week I’ve been eating my way through a large bar of Dairy Milk and feeling pretty good about it. I’ve been enjoying the cat’s warmth as he lies next to me in bed. Just look at his little paw on my bump in this photo:

I’ve been tying up loose ends at work, and cleaning corners of my bedroom that have never met a hoover nozzle before, and trying to write comprehensive handover notes to the woman who is very kindly stepping in to cover me on mat leave. I secretly hope she’s not going to be so amazing that on my return, they decide to keep her on, and ditch me.

I’ve also been dreaming of the baby, in a very real way. My eldest son confided in me that he was worried I’d survive labour, because he keeps on having horrific dreams where I very nearly don’t make it. Joab is not as worried as my son is, but he still says he’ll only be able to breathe properly once the baby is in our arms.

Not once have I been worried about this baby’s arrival. Does that make me a psycho, or simply delusional at my age? I’m not sure. Anyway, I’m keeping a thoroughly open mind. I’m approaching labour in much the same way that I approach lunch. I think about it a lot, but I’ll only make the important decisions once I’m in the kitchen.

What’s to come, then? A baby, born at home, hopefully. And on Substack, I think I’ll probably be writing lists for a while, observations about the things that are happening with a new life, so I don’t forget. I want to remember the specifics of this period. I want to capture the things I’m finding difficult, and joyful, and helpful. I don’t know if this will make good reading material, but if I make it honest (and concise) hopefully my current lot of lovely subscribers won’t unsubscribe.

See you on the other side,

Grace xxx