Babies. A shit load of Babies. Suddenly they’re everywhere. Where did they come from? Well, obviously I know in the biblical sense, but the transmogrification of many of my friends from fuckhead to family guy crept up on me and no mistake.
Over the years I've become close to many of BB2.1's friends. Having so many older sibling types around has always been lovely, but this unanticipated upshot is also distinctly unnerving. You'd think I'd be broody but I'm not. I'm just terrified. One minute all was calm. Then suddenly I'm being inundated with these cute, gurgling, if not, caterwauling squirmy wormy things. Fortunately everyone knows what a clusterfuck I am. So far no one has asked me to babysit.
I am a rubbish, rubbish Aunt, although deceptively good at the whole making a tit of myself and looking-like-I-know-what-I'm-doing thing: Support the baby's head. Don't feed it chutney, vodka or amphetamines. Try not to swear in front of it so its first word isn't 'Fuck'. But actually I am the least trustworthy person round a baby you'll encounter. Most likely to be heard saying, 'Come along children, help Auntie Emma find her Valium, and you can have one'.
On the subject of inappropriateness, a tip: If, like me, you thought it would be amusing to download GrindR (despite not being a randy homosexual male) and have a good giggle sending wind up messages to unsuspecting benders on the shark when you're bored...make sure you don't lend your phone to your seven year old nephew so he can play games on it.
'Is this a game too??' he asked loudly, waving the loaded application under his (rather conservative) mother's nose. I have never moved so fast. That's a court case just waiting to happen. ‘It’s sort of a game for grown ups, yes sweetheart,’ I said, practically cart wheeling across the kitchen to retrieve it.
And where do you think I get it from, this toxic ineptitude around sprogs? Well, put it this way. The new arrival of baby L, or as BB2.1 likes to call her 'Minime' has basically just been another excuse (as if he needed one) for my Dad to get completely arseholed:
'Why's he so wankered?' BB2.1 asked me when we collected him at 2am on the Tuesday morning she was born.
I was wankered too. I’m just better at hiding it.
The sprogging forth of babies is also a most tiresome excuse for both my brothers to draw endless attention to the fact that they are both proficient in the art of nappy changing thanks to practicing on me when I was a nipper. Apparently nothing has ever been more terrifying than the radioactive puree I could produce. Perhaps that’s it. I was so disgusting I actually managed to put myself off.