Monday, October 24, 2011

Godmother: An Open Letter to My Pregnant Sister

Dear Jill,

So, you're pregnant. In many ways, this feels like an unspeakable betrayal on your part.  Me and you have always been like "Fuck babies!" "Yeah, fuck babies!" and for you to turn around and just LIKE GET PREGNANT, WITHOUT EVEN CONSULTING ME FIRST - well, that's just not on, is it?

But I'll forgive you. This time. In the meantime, I want you to think about an issue that's far more pressing: Godmothers. Yes, I know you're an atheist, and you won't even want your womb gremlin to be cross-dressed and presented to an audience of lapsed Catholics as a priest half-heartedly tries to drown it, but that's not the matter at hand here: the matter is Godmothers.



Yes, I know you have friends. Friends who, bizarrely, enjoy the company of infants. You probably think that this makes them worthy Godmother candidates. FYI: It doesn't. Here's something they don't tell you: people who like babies, more often then not, end up having babies. And if your baby's Godmother already HAS a baby, then why would she be interested in yours? She wouldn't be, that's what. She'd be way too interested in her own womb gremlin to care about when yours' first birthday is.

I'm not saying I'm going to care that much about Gremlor's first birthday either. I'm not even going to promise I'll remember what month it is. But I still think I should be Gremlor's Godmother. Here's why.

After you have your baby, the majority of the people in your life will no longer see you as the chimney-smoking, mojito-making, X-Files obsessing, Hugh Laurie-fantasizing, paranoid wreck you delightfully are. You'll just be a mother. I will never do this. I will never treat you differently just because you made a new human being using only the spare parts inside of you.


  • I will reassure you that it is in NO WAY tacky to smoke during labour.
  • I will never imply that your child's happiness is somehow more important than yours.
  • If you feel too guilty about slapping your child, I will gladly slap it for you. This way all negative association will be directly foisted onto me, and you can continue being the peacekeeping earth mother you will no doubt take a stab at being.
  • On the occasions that you are far too fucked-up tired to go, I will attend parent-teacher meetings and pretend to be you.
  • I will buy you rum and fags for your child's birthday. I will buy your child Ritalin.
  • When your child becomes a teenager, and it inevitably runs away from home, I will gladly book it a hotel.
  • When you feel like a negligent mother, I will remind you that our mother was once reported to a radio talk show for doing the macarena while driving.
  • I will still call you about my financial problems, and you will still be pissed off with me for only calling you when I have financial problems.
  • You can still hate my romantic decisions. I will not use your motherhood and marriagehood as an excuse for you hating them. I will not claim that you have somehow 'lost perspective'. My romantic decisions will still be as crap as they always were.



Love, always,

Caroline

P.S. This contract becomes null and void in the event you name your child after any major TV character. I met a ginger baby called "Brie" yesterday.





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