I’ve never been a HUGE baby person.  That doesn’t mean I don’t like them, enjoy holding them, think they’re cute and all that good stuff.  But as far as needing to hold a baby or needing have a baby or needing to coo at a baby or over baby things – yeah, not so much.  (And if any of my friends are reading this, that does NOT mean that I haven’t enjoyed your babies – not what I’m saying at all.)

That is, unless they’re family babies.  Family babies are different.  Starting when I was two days shy of my twelfth birthday, our first family baby (my niece) was born.  For the next sixteen years, my sisters kept us duly supplied with family babies, each spaced just right so that whenever I felt the need to hold a baby, here came another one.  The only reason I can think of that a family baby is different than another baby is because maybe I feel a sense of this baby, in some tiny way, is a part of who we are, a part of our family.

Yes, there were ten babies for our family to hold and coo over throughout the years.  But it’s been a while.  I’ve been fine with that…or so I thought.

Caleb’s older brother and our sister-in-law announced the exciting news last year that they were going to have a baby.  This is the first grandbaby/niece in his family, so it was, ya’ know, the kind of big deal that all firstborns get to be.  (Seeing that Caleb has eight siblings, this baby will be the first of MANY, I’m sure.)

Well, this leetle baby was just born on Sunday.  Since it’s “Caleb’s side of the family,” I honestly thought it would not affect me the way the babies on “my side of the family” had.  Well, I was wrong.  From the first time I saw her on Facebook (the master of all communication methods), I was smitten.  This was our niece, my niece.

Yes, she is absolutely adorable, and I am excited to meet her and hold her and coo over her…after all, she is a family baby, and I can do that.

Congrats, Steven and Micaela!

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