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decreaseJust a short story, but one for those with little babies.
I am the youngest in my family. It’s a common joke that my oldest sister, who I love dearly even though she’s certifiably insane, is my closest sibling.
Indeed, as a child, I often lived with her, on hippie communes, and sometimes, to piss off her boyfriends and her, called her “mummy”.
I guess her being 19 and me 4 I though it was funny, she was not so amused.
The odd thing is she loved me always as her baby brother.
Indeed, standing about 6 inches taller and twice her weight, she’d introduce me, when I was no longer a teenager, as her ‘Baby Brother’.
It became a long-standing family joke.
Off course, to me, Jing-Joe my daughter will always be my “Baby”.
However, the little balls of poo and cute noises grow up, even though we don’t want them to.
When she was 1, and able to buy my newspapers for me, I thought, “She’s no longer my baby.”
DarLek and I would look at her, when the little angel slept (devil if she was awake) and reminisce about our ‘Baby’ and how big she was at 2 years old.
At 2 - she didn’t even look like a baby, but she was, she was MY baby, and will always be!
Now she will be 3 in a few weeks time.
We are sitting in the coffee shop, our weekend ritual, Daddy and ‘Baby’ time. While mum gets to sleep in, we go and drink coffee, she buys the newspapers, comes back with the correct change, and we chat about things then go shopping for the weekend food that I usually cook, assisted by my ‘Baby’, whose little fingers are perfect to peel a garlic clove while I make my Sunday Irish Stew.
So, when sitting there last week, I said, as I always do, “Come on Baby, off we go shopping.”
”Daddy, my name is Jing-Joe, I not a baby, I a girl.”
I must admit, even typing this, there’s a small tear in the corner of my eye.
Jimmie Blonde
© Jimmie Blonde. All rights reserved by the author.
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