Long-time readers of this here blogamijig know that I am not one for children. I can’t stand kids. No, that’s wrong. I like kids. I just can’t stand bad parenting and bratty behaviour. Oh, little Timmy wants to kick the cat and ended up getting bitch scratched in the face? What a shame perhaps you should have intervened etc.
No, being a parent isn’t for me. Cats are for me. I mean, even that’s far too much responsibility. I want cuddles on my terms, not when some needy creature wants them. That kind of lifestyle suits the kittens and the cats’ disdain for affection and generally recognition that I’m alive suits me.
So, when my sister told me she was with child, as they say, I was shocked to discover that I was actually pleased for her. My sister. My baby sister who in my head is still aged seven was going to have her own little poop head. Pleased. Now, with dad’s death, it’s been a hard pill to swallow, purely as he’d never believe he would be a grandfather. With my screwed up relationship history and hatred of all things mummy, and my sister’s financial and living situations making it impossible, there’s no way he thought it would happen. So it was a bittersweet realisation that the child was going to be without his nonno.
But, I was happy. She was happy. I’m also happy I get to teach the kid all the cool stuff that aunties do, such as swimming underwater to collect a rubber brick, roller blading, how to build dens that survive the apocalypse, cat riding, and the like.
With that announcement came eight months of waddling and belching, finally ending in a nightmare 24 hours of pushing and screaming, before doctors were like, ‘hey guys this kid’s head is massive, shall we go for the ol’ slice and grab?’ After a bit of a traumatic time, the kid was born and so commenced months of screaming and sleepless nights, culminating in my sister being confused on where she stood on having more kids. Some days she says she might want one more, some she says she wouldn’t wish the pure hell of raising essentially a pooping vomiting potato on anyone.
The child is now coming up to three months old. He’s a beaut. Long timers here will know that I call an ugly kid when I see one. I should know ugly, I’m 31 and on facebook and boy are there some ugly kids out there (yes yes, they’ll grow into their massive heads and no their noses won’t always be so prominent but anyone who can’t admit some babies are less aesthetically pleasing than others is a baby-headed liar, if I can admit some cats are ugly you can do it too). If he was mutant-looking, I’d have definitely had to bring it up in conversation. Like, ‘you do know his face isn’t symmetrical’ or ‘at least he’ll grow up smart’ or some other roundabout way of saying what have you birthed it’s like nothing a human should ever be exposed to. But fortunately, he is a beaut.
My sister’s had a hard time of it though. I mean, torture scientists (if there is such a profession, I’m sure America has SOME) will admit that sleep deprivation is pretty effective at causing one to lose one’s marbles pretty quickly and effectively with minimal cost and outlay. And when a child’s scream pierces the calm of night every two hours on a daily basis, it’s likely to cause some mental cognitive dysfunction.
As that’s the case, I decided to treat her to something I knew she’d like – a necklace or two. I spotted a jade necklace which would look great paired with her classive jeans and blazer look, and a classier opal style chain which would suit her 1940’s skirt and shirt days, on Happiness Boutique and decided to treat her. In all fairness, I was inundated with gorgeous styles and trends that I kinda made her pick, under the guise of ‘hey Lou, I’m reviewing a really cool boutique jewellery store but can’t decide it’s all too nice! Help me pick!’ She’s always been a fan of blues and greens, so when it arrived a few days later complete with care card and sticker set, (and ignoring the candy-wrapper box in pink (which I loved, btw, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a girl liking pink shells)) I presented it to her, explaining that the puncture holes in the corner were the work of a clearly insane kitten. She accepted this.
In all seriousness, parenthood looks hard. Seriously hard. I love my nephew, I would kill for him. I would. But it’s just emphasised to me that, nope, kittens not kids. I can’t fathom how hard my bro-in-law and my sister, and by extension my mum (they all live together you see) have coped throughout the tears and tantrums. It’s not something I’ll ever put myself through, but it’s something that deserves some nice jewellery every now and then.
Thanks to the beautiful Happiness Boutique for their gorgeous gift to my sister, she absolutely loved her little kit and can’t wait to get wearing them. Also, if anyone fancies getting me a present for putting up with the two insane cats I have who also wake me up in the middle of the night on the hour, I’ll happily take this vintage choker. Or this rainbow statement necklace. Or this free spirit cuff. Or all of them, y’know?