By Jaime Rochelle Herndon

When my brother and I were younger, we used to ask my mom all the time, “Which one of us do you love the best?” And she would always say, “I love both of you equally.” We never believed her, of course – as children are bound to do.         
    
Which is why, when I found out I was going to have another niece or nephew, I was excited, but also scared. My nephew, T, was born 7 years ago. I was there when he was rolled out in his isolette, and I remember thinking, I will never let anyone or anything hurt you. I never knew it was possible to love someone this much. I understood the pit-bull analogies, the mama bear stereotypes. My heart cracked open and he crawled into that T-shaped space. I took care of him a lot in the next four months, before I moved away for graduate school. I often babysat him overnight, or my brother and his girlfriend would drop him off at my work so I could watch him that night, afterwards. I would wake up in the middle of the night to make sure he was still breathing, my hand lightly on his chest. I learned what songs soothed him: “Sweet Child O’Mine” and “Baby Mine.” I survived an explosive diarrhea blowout in the mall (my nephew’s, not mine), with no wipes to be found in the diaper bag my brother left me. A few years later, I was on the phone with him when he tried to say my name, and it came out “Aunt JJ.” And so I was named. It sounded, and still sounds, like the best name in the world. I never tire of hearing it.

When I was told I would be an aunt again, I was overjoyed. I loved seeing the ultrasounds, wondering whether it would be a boy or girl, and couldn’t wait to shop for clothes and toys for it. When we found out it would be a girl, I braced myself for the onslaught of pink and princesses, while wondering how I could be that aunt who teaches her niece to be a warrior, that she can wear blue and combat boots and overalls, while still wearing makeup (when she’s a teenager, despite the kids makeup lines – don't get me started) and enjoying girly things. I wondered how I could show her the world is hers, no matter what other people might tell her just because she’s a girl.

But a small fear crawled into the back of my mind and wouldn’t leave. Will I be able to love her as much as I love T? I shared this fear with my therapist, herself a mother of three, and she relieved my fear that I was a terrible aunt. She said many mothers feel this way and wonder how they could possibly love another child, or whether their love will be diminished. Second child syndrome, she called it. She assured me that there was plenty of love inside me and that, no doubt, I would take my niece under my wing, like I had my nephew.

B was born mid-summer, and I went to NJ to visit her later that week. When I held her, all those fears seemed silly to me all of a sudden. Because looking into her (still) blue eyes, with those long, long eyelashes, she stole my heart and burrowed right in there, next to her brother. I bought her The Hungry Caterpillar book and toys, sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her, bought her overalls and even….a tutu. I feel that same protective instinct, and am always showing off pictures of her and her brother (Most recently, of him helping her walk!). She just turned a year old, and last weekend, while watching the kids, she said “Aunt JJ” as best she could. And all over again, I was reminded of that special moment the first time I heard my nephew say it. I may have even cried a little.

I don’t know what songs she particularly likes, and I have yet to take care of her overnight. I do know she likes “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” likes bananas, and positively adores her big brother. She loves the camera, hates being changed, and is a little spit-fire in training. My circumstances have changed since my nephew was born, and I don’t live as close as I used to, but our journey together as niece and aunt has just begun. We have plenty of time.
    
My nephew is still adjusting to being a big brother, and at times, he will lash out at me, or someone else, and accuse us of loving B more. I found myself explaining to him, “T, you guys are like my hands. I love you both equally, and need both of you in my life. I love both of you.”  He looked skeptical, and I flashed back to my own childhood, asking that question, and smiled. Because that’s the thing – there is always enough love to give. More than enough.

Jaime Herndon has her MFA in writing from Columbia and an MPH in maternal-child health from UNC. She lives in New York and has two heartchildren, her niece and nephew. Since original publication in 2014, Jaime had a son of her own.

Photo: CHOReograPH

Published: September 17, 2014