Do you know what the problem is when you’re raised as the cherished, perfect princess of the family?

Nothing ever prepares you for when it ends. And eventually, you realize you were a fool to think that it never would.

Not long after my 16th birthday, Miranda gave us the incredible news. I was going to be an aunt!

Miranda, whose pregnancy was not going to affect her yearning for independence, threw a baby shower that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the pages of a magazine. Without the help of anybody, especially not her kid’s father, whose identity remained perfectly mysterious for a few more months. Miranda says that she didn’t know herself until baby Nolan was born.

It was a perfect day, and a perfectly happy day.

On and on, our mothers gushed about the child to come. The youngest heir, the new life, the endless possibilities.

Mom turned to me at some point, and she said, “Aren’t you excited to take care of your little nephew?”

And I realized that no, I really wasn’t. What my sister had done for me, I couldn’t return a fraction of to her unborn baby. I wasn’t willing to lose my spot as the cherished heir, or to sacrifice the time, and effort, and energy, that I knew I could put towards my goals, my many goals.

So I told my mom that I wouldn’t be taking care of little nephew. I would, in fact, be moving out before the end of the week.

My mothers were dismayed. Miranda — perfect, supportive Miranda — applauded my independence, and she encouraged me, as she always had, to reach for more.

Grandma was incredibly happy to meet her great-great grandkid. Generation Fourteen of our family was kind of a big deal.

I figured now would be as good a time as ever.

She was less excited than I was.