The Rule of 16's

It was a good thing that my mom had her sister visiting when I was born. Apparently I was a very difficult, colicky baby, and having my 16 year old aunt there really helped my mom. I'm talking about Amazing Aunt Risky there, in a country (Sweden for you new folks, and thanks for following!) where she didn't speak the language. What she could do was give me her patented knuckle treatment – no, she didn't harm me, I sucked on her knuckles since my mother was determined to stick to a “once every four hours” feeding schedule. It seems I cried the last two hours. Fast forward.

That colicky, cranky, screaming baby is now sixteen. Amazing Aunt Risky's first child, GorgeousGirl is born. I get to watch her, soothe her, hold her, tickle her arm and spoil her every Friday until we moved to Colorado. Fast forward.

I lost touch with GG since moving to CO when I was 18 and she 2, but then when SHE'S 16 (beginning to catch on to the title here?) my son, The Transporter, is born. She flies out for his baby dedication with our mutual grandma Vivian. We've hardly seen each other in the past 14 years, but we hit it off immediately (again) and she bonds, holds, cuddles with and soothes the newborn little Transporter. Do you see where this is going? You might recall that The Transporter is 16...

GG just had her first child, an ADORABLE baby boy just his week. 

                     Proud Papa, the Marine

GG, of course looking Gorgeous, with 3 day old "Froggy"

The rule of 16 continues to apply. Let me sum up:

** Aunt Risky was 16 when her niece (as in me) was born.

** I was 16 when her daughter (GG) was born.

** GG was 16 when my son was born.

** My son IS sixteen and GG's son was just born.

The Transporter, holding a baby for the very first time!

Take that all you math doubters!

Is The Transporter going to have to wait until he's 32 to have a child? Time will tell.

~Tina