Chapter 2 - THE FIRST GRANDCHILD SHE WANTED
My older sister was thirty-four.
For seven years, she had tried to become a mother.
I knew the timeline because I lived parts of it beside her.
The first pregnancy ended at nine weeks.
The second never implanted.
Then surgeries.
Hormones.
Tests.
A failed IVF cycle.
A second cycle with no viable embryo transfer.
Then one specialist told her the odds of carrying a pregnancy were extremely poor.
She cried in my bathroom for an hour after she told me.
I held her.
I meant every kind thing I said.
I still meant them.
Her grief was real.
My pregnancy did not erase it.
That was the part Theodora never understood.
When I became pregnant, my sister smiled.
Then cried in the car afterward.
She admitted that to me months later.
I understood.
What I did not understand was my mother.
Theodora reacted to my pregnancy as though someone had made an accounting error.
“Oh.”
That was her first word after I showed her the ultrasound.
Then:
“Your sister is going to be devastated.”
Not:
Are you happy?
Not:
How are you feeling?
My sister was devastated.
She was also loving.
She brought ginger tea.
She bought me maternity leggings.
She cried when she felt Marcellus kick.
Those things were true too.
Then Theodora began saying:
“Let your sister be involved.”
At first:
Come to ultrasound.
I agreed twice.
Then:
Let her plan the shower.
Fine.
Then:
Let her choose the nursery colors.
No.
Then:
Let her be in the delivery room.
No.
Then:
Let her spend nights with you after birth.
Maybe.
Then:
She should keep the baby sometimes so you can rest.
I said:
“We’ll see.”
That phrase became a mistake.
Theodora heard permission where I meant:
Stop asking.
Then Marcellus was born.
Healthy.
Six pounds eleven ounces.
The first week, my sister came twice.
She held him carefully.
Asked before changing his diaper.
Left when I became tired.
Nothing alarming.
Theodora came almost every day until I started locking the door.
She criticized breastfeeding.
Nap times.
Swaddling.
The baby’s name.
Then one afternoon:
“Your sister needs more time with him.”
I said:
“He is not therapy.”
My mother’s face changed.
“I never said he was.”
“You keep talking like holding my baby repairs what happened to her.”
“She has suffered.”
“I know.”
“You got pregnant without even trying very long.”
There.
The comparison.
I said:
“My pregnancy is not something I took from her.”
Theodora replied:
“You have always gotten things easily.”
That was not true.
It was also irrelevant.
Then the overnight request.
My sister had converted her guest room into a nursery.
She told me it was for a future adoption placement if that happened.
Theodora told everyone:
“It’s for Marcellus too.”
I said no.
My sister did not challenge me directly.
She said:
“Mom gets carried away.”
May you like
That sentence would become important.
Because she kept saying it while still letting my mother carry the idea forward.
