*Hello you fine folk, how’s it hanging? Okay, enough about you, (damn you guys, always hogging the spotlight) let’s talk about more important things. First of all, huge apologies if I seem to have bypassed any blogs. WordPress has decided that I obviously have far too may people on my Reader and thought it best to omit some entries…without letting me know. How helpful of them is that? Secondly, it’s my loveable but slightly unhinged nephew’s birthday today. From the moment he started dabbling in the dark arts of the arcane at six months, I knew he would be special. So what better way to celebrate, then with a post that originally appeared on the original blog which was original in it’s originality.
Nine months, that’s how long it was purportedly meant to take. Nine whole months of anxiously waiting. Waiting for it to take seed. To gestate and to take form. Biding one’s time for the exact moment when it would emerge from its home, its place of rest, its easy baked oven… in other words and for those with not an ounce of subtlety, the vagina.
When the nine months were finally over and there still appeared to be no signs of the womb fruit, I and the rest of my clan begun to suspect that my baby sister may have been carrying an elephant or that perhaps, a diagnosis would soon discover that her enormous bump was due to nothing more than a severe and protracted case of flatulence. But on Tuesday the fifth of November, Bonfire night, *Damien finally arrived. After twelve arduous hours and much screaming for the assistance of drugs, I had calmed down long enough to pay a visit to the latest addition to the insanity tribe. My family.
He was beautiful. Weighing in at just over 8 lbs and looking like he’d spent the last couple of months working the treadmill; my nephew came into this very world. As I gazed adoringly at his tiny features, all wrinkled, the bits of placenta and dried blood making him no less enchanting, I was suddenly overcome by an intense and overwhelming sense of love and…fear? Were those bloodshot red pupils that gazed angrily back at me from underneath heavy, hooded lids? Surely not. I blinked once and shook my head as if to clear away the foolish thought that had obviously impaired my vision; for when I haltingly chanced to look upon him once more, all appeared to be normal. Well it had been a long day, I surmised. One that had started at 1 am and hadn’t ended until 1 pm the following day. And I had had very little sleep. That must be it. My lack of slumber was obviously starting to affect my waking hours.
Rocking the babe steadily as my sister sought to recuperate from birthing something the size of a one of the seven dwarves, I begun to hum a gentle, yet lilting lullaby. Just as I was bursting out the second chorus to ‘Baby you’re a firework,’ I detected a voice that seemed to be coming from nearby. “Jesus woman, what the blazes? Swing me any higher and I’ll be clutching at that damnable light bulb very soon!”
“Who said that?” I shrieked aloud. I scanned the delivery room but apart from myself, the baby, my sister and the midwife who looked as though she was playing a game of Tug Of War with the placenta, there was no one else around. I shrugged my shoulders and walked over to the cot in order to lay him down, when suddenly, the child flew from my grasp and hovered just above the crib.
Terrified and in utter shock, I again looked at the midwife who now appeared to be stitching my sister a brand new Lady Garden and then to my sister herself, who looked as though she was silently praying for the sweet relief of death. “But…but…but that’s impossible,” I all but stammered. “That is the most terrifying sight I’ve ever seen.” “I know”, remarked the midwife from in-between my sister’s quivering thighs, “I’ve seen caves that were smaller.” “No”, I spat out, I’m not talking about my sister’s foo-foo, I’m talking about the baby! Look…he’s…he’s floating…” “Must be the Pethidine”, pronounced the midwife, now surveying her handiwork, “that shit is better than crack.”
“No!” I bellowed almost hysterical now, “the baby…he’s actually floating…in mid-air!” At the preposterousness of my announcement, all heads finally swiveled round, though not literally because that crap would be scary, to observe the babe who was now nestled safely and quietly in his cot. “But…but…” I stuttered, tongue tripping over my words. “ Looks like someone’s been at the gas and air whilst we weren’t looking eh?” Commented the bitch midwife with a wry smile. “Floating baby indeed,” she huffed.
I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I had been holding and took in a deep lungful of air. “I must be more tired than I thought”, I voiced in return, rubbing at my furrowed brow. “ Listen sis, I’m gonna go home and catch up on some sleep. I’ll be back to visit later”. As I bent to kiss my newly born nephew gently upon his forehead, I was sure that I saw the faint trace of a smirk play upon those tiny lips. And I’m fairly certain that as he lifted his minute hand in the air, in the way that all newborns do, the little bastard gave me the finger. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you little one…a very close eye,” I whispered into his ear. And as I walked towards the entrance, I’m positive that I heard a small voice say something that sounded very much like “bite me.”
*All names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. And to stop me from possibly being murdered in my sleep.