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My week at home with my family for Thanksgiving was book-ended by three-foot-high hugs and a warm sensation around my heart that felt like melting. You see, my three-year-old nephew, Carson, came to the "plane station" to help pick me up and see me off. Both instances felt like early Christmas presents.

This week as coworkers and friends have kindly asked me about that time with my family, I've had two different answers. To most, I've commented on the copious amounts of food I ate, the great sleep I always get at my parents' place, and the odd fixation on my footwear that my mom's side of the family continues to exhibit. This year my three-inch-heeled boots seemed to confuse them a bit, as if they didn't recognize me at 5'5" instead of 5'2". I'm already trying to plan my Christmas footwear carefully.

A select few friends got a different rendition of my Thanksgiving wrap-up. My fellow aunts and uncles got the Cool Aunt Cam version—complete with details on how Carson greeted me at the airport with a sweet yelp of recognition—"Cam!"—and then ran to wrap me in a hug. How my niece, Luci, feel asleep in my arms on two different occasions while I sang "Jesus Loves the Little Children" to her over and over. And how both times I couldn't bear to set her down for her naptime and instead opted to sit and hold her, enjoying the small rhythmic breaths on my neck and the occasional heavy, sleepy sigh.

When I regaled my single aunt friend Jill with these stories, she "awwwed" in all the right places and then shared about her train-loving nephew and the train song-and-dance he got her to do while she was with him over the holiday. Since my favorite three-year-old also loves the locomotive world, Jill and I compared notes about Thomas the Tank Engine, the various characters and videos we're both acquainted with, and the best places to buy Thomas paraphernalia for our wee ones for Christmas.

The last time Jill and I were out—with our fellow singletons Melody and Kibibi—we no doubt looked sort of Sex & the City, dressed up after work at a classy Greek restaurant celebrating a birthday and chattering on about fashion finds, work woes, and our favorite TV shows. But somewhere in the rich food and conversation, we also pulled out the latest niece and nephew pix, fawning over each other's smallest family members with a secret knowing.

Knowing that while others may appreciate an adorable smile or a cute pirate Halloween costume (complete with a wooden spoon "sword") when we show them our latest pictures, we each see our nieces and nephews not just with our eyes, but also with our heart. With a sense of belonging and familial connection. Without the daily responsibilities of disciplining or diaper-changing, but with the status of a special visitor and playmate. A person who gets to simply show up and shower with love.

My coworker friend Todd (it's not just a sisterhood) put it best earlier this week when I asked how his Thanksgiving was, and practically before I could finish the question he was pulling up on his computer screen pictures of his brand-spanking-new nephew, Landon. "When you guys would show me pictures of your nieces and nephews before, I thought, Yeah, that's nice. But now I get it. Now I can't stop staring at him." And then we sat and basked in the cuteness that is Landon, all decked out in a white satin christening outfit.

I love that several of my single friends and I now have something to talk on and on about besides our two-steps-forward, three-steps-back attempts at dating lives. I love that I have a better understanding of my parent's love for me and their occasional reluctance to let go. I love that I have a greater grace for my mommy friends and their seeming non-stop chatter about their kids.

And perhaps most of all I love the unique bond between a singleton and her niece or nephew. The older I get and occasionally wonder if motherhood will ever be an option for me, the more I appreciate these little dear ones my sister and brother-in-law have brought into our family. They are ours, and therefore partially mine. And they might be the closest I get to kids of my own. Most days, having an undivided heart to lavish love on them is a redemptive and delicious treat.

Sure, my time home with my family is now filled with less movies and more fast food. My parents and I often leave my sister and brother-in-law's house after a full afternoon/evening of play not to watch a favorite TV show together while sharing popcorn and hot chocolate, but to fall exhausted straight into our beds. There are less leisurely coffee shop stops, but way more singing and clapping and giggling.

During that goodbye hug at the airport before returning home, Carson spoke softly into my ear, "I'll miss you." When we let go of each other, he looked up at me with big sad eyes. My heart broke, and simultaneously some of the single broken pieces of it mended, too. Someone's going to miss me! And not just any someone, but one who holds part of my heart.

I wondered how he knew to say such a heart-rending grown-up thing. When I retell the story to one of my aunt friends, while I'm showing them the latest round of Carson and Luci pictures, I'm sure one of them will explain it to me. Or at the very least they'll completely understand how his words inspired a wondrous ache of love.

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