Happy 3rd birthday, monkey

Twelve years ago, my sister went into labour with my niece. It was Saturday night. I'd flown there Friday night, got in late, and then had to get up to go to the hospital with my sister since they were inducing the baby.

Suffice it to say I was tired, so naturally, I was not thrilled about rushing back to the hospital at 8 at night. I would have much rather gotten a good night sleep, but back to the hospital we went.

I wasn't opposed to my niece being a leap year baby, but she could have been a leap year baby if she'd been born at 12:30. The next ten hours were really just a plot to keep her least-favourite auntie from sleeping.

They were in the hospital for five days, and at one point my niece was mad. I don't know why - there's not too much to complain about when you get fed, bathed, and generally cared for without having to do so much as support your own head - but she was angry. The nurse looked at my sister and said "you're going to have fun with this one".

The first night she was home, I woke up at 2 am to hear her screaming. I got up and found her crying, and my sister crying because she wouldn't calm down. After a while, we figured out that she probably had an upset stomach, but no fever or anything that indicated she needed medical attention. I have no idea how we got her to stop crying, but we must have succeeded eventually. 

By the time I came back to Ottawa, she'd figured out that she could straighten her legs. Suddenly she was harder to hold.

The next time I was there was Christmas. Her crib was in my room. (Well, my bed was in her room.) One morning, I woke up to discover her crawling around in the bed beside me. She must have cried in the middle of the night, because I apparently got up and put her between me in bed between me and the wall without waking up.

It's hard to believe that she's almost as tall as me (she's not allowed to get any taller, for the record) and that she wears a bigger size of shoe than I do.

Happy birthday, monkey.

Love, your favourite auntie.

Am I the only one?

Every year, I buy new jeans in the boxing week sales. This year, they are skinny leg jeans. They're comfortable and they fit well, but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to take them off without ending up with them inside out in a crumpled ball. 

Friday, for example, I wore jeans to work. After work, I rushed home to change into my boxing clothes. I pulled off my jeans and put on my shorts - but it's February, so I wanted to wear my jeans over the shorts. I turned them back right side out and pulled them on.

I drove to boxing and took the jeans off. Yup, inside out again. I turned them right side out again and went to class. When class was over, I put my jeans on and drove home.

Anyone want to guess what happened when I took them off to shower?

Last night, my niece called. She hardly ever calls - she has way more important things to do, so usually if I hear from her, something has gone wrong.

That was the case yesterday. She was home alone and she thought there was someone else in the house.

We talked about how houses make noises that can sound scary when you're alone, she told me what she'd heard, and we figured out that there was nothing to worry about. She had the flu earlier this week, so I asked her how she was feeling.

She hung up.

I had to make Wanda call back to make sure there wasn't someone in the house.