On Friday night, my cousin called me out of the blue after two years of not a whole lot of contact (the way it usually goes between us cousins) and asked me if I wanted to come over and celebrate his son’s second birthday on Sunday. Even though I’m sick and busy there was no way I was going to miss that so I loaded up on paracetamol and tissues and spent a really great afternoon with the parts of my family that I think I like the best but see the least. It was a pretty eye opening experience, in some ways.
My immediate family isn’t that big and since neither my dad nor I have any siblings and I don’t ever ever plan on having kids, it’s a bit lopsided to boot. I live closer to my paternal grandma (the only grandparent I still have) so I’m used to very small family gatherings. Today was huge by comparison, with uncles and cousins and a gaggle of kids and we were all family, even if not all of us were genetically related. It was such a nice feeling of being part of something happy and supportive and goddamn if I don’t want to cry a little bit with how much I’ve missed that.
I’ve always loved my cousins so much but we also didn’t see each other more than once or twice a year. I’m eight years younger than my oldest cousin, and four years younger than the other one, so the age difference have always left us limping a bit as far as life experiences go. Now that we’re all a bit older, maybe it’ll be easier, especially since I’m moving real close to one of them in a few weeks time. Regardless, I can honestly say that I didn’t realise how much I actually desperately need some real comfortable family time in the company of rational adults than I did today, at a party for a two year old.
He’s chubby and adorable, for the record, and I don’t even like kids. My cousin makes beautiful children.