Aunt Sako

Sako came to town over Thanksgiving week to visit her boyfriend, who is currently working as an ER nurse at Stanford Hospital. As an afterthought, she came to visit us as well, given that we were only 15 minutes away. I didn't press her on which one of us was the priority, given that I have my suspicions and it would be unkind to force her back to the wall -- not that she would particularly mind lying to our faces, but in the principle of not deliberately putting temptation in front of my little sister's face, well.

She hadn't met Hobbes before, but then again, she also hadn't seen her boyfriend for two months. Of the two, the boyfriend was a known factor. Hobbes was a blobby image she'd only seen through pictures and hearsay; my mother is certainly not a biased judge of either character or looks insofar as her first and only grandchild is concerned, so one can be pardoned for skepticism on the part of onlookers. From all accounts, she is handing out pictures of Hobbes like candy to all and sundry, and given that I am currently writing thank you cards for gifts from friends of hers, not to mention violin students that I do not even know, I suspect even polite strangers are not exempt from this treatment.

It's quite touching, especially since she tries to put on the mask when we're on the phone together. "You can't spoil him," she told me sternly, only to melt like a Vichy pudding when she sees him over Skype.

Sako was not the most enthusiastic participant in the pregnancy experience. I only saw her a couple of times during the 9 months, and that was far enough along in the process that I was actually showing -- and not just showing (which I didn't start to do until about month 5) but showing a lot. She came by in July at Mom's orders to paint our nursery. Her chagrin at seeing my stomach was comical, if a little disturbing considering her planned career as a nurse.

"Ew," she said. "You're pregnant."

"You knew that." I moved to hug her. She shied away.

"What?" I demanded.

"Don't touch me. What if it's contagious?"

I can only hope that her nursing school is able to clear up some of her more worrisome misconceptions.

She spent the rest of her visit working our house over and periodically poking me in the stomach with a pencil. ("Ew. It's firm.") By the time she left, three days later, she'd worked her way up to poking my stomach gingerly with the very tip of her finger and then jerking away very quickly, in case the thing that was in my belly would somehow take offense and come after her with a syringe full of sperm.

With that in mind, I was somewhat curious to see what her first encounter with Hobbes would be like. Would she run away? Would she avoid him entirely? Would she poke him repeatedly with a pencil until I was forced to call Child Protective Services?

As it happened, she and Hobbes hit it off like a charm.

"He's so small," she marveled, and settled gingerly into a chair with him to stare. He stared back. They communed. "And squishy. Look at those cheeks." She pinched one cautiously; when it didn't fall off, she prodded it to see what would happen next.

He yawned. Compared to his parents, Aunt Sako was an amateur.

By the time we all went out to dinner, a couple of days later, she was an old hand with the child. They called Mom together over Skype, Hobbes with unfocused disinterest, Sako with a great deal of pride. "My nephew," she kept calling him, with a small emphasis on the my. John, her boyfriend who occasionally works Pediatric ER, was both bemused and amused in his mellow way.

"He's cute," Sako told him.

"All babies are cute," he said. This did not satisfy her.

"Yes, but he's cuter."

"You're biased," I told her.

"You are," said John.

"No I'm not. He's cute."

"Biased," the Guy said.

"Yeah," said John.

"You don't think he's cute?"

John said, agreeably, "Sure."

"We're biased too," the Guy said.

"A bit," I said.

"I'm not biased at all," Sako said. "Why would I be biased? He's just cuter that most babies, is all. And," she added with an air of setting the seal on her argument, "Mom thinks so too."

"Because she's not biased at all," I said.

"I'm not," said Sako, and glared at John.

John, prudent man, grinned. "Right," he said. "Not at all."