My sister no longer has a bun in the oven. The bun is now a teeny tiny human.
As of April 29th, I’m an Auntie! That makes me at least 50% more awesome and 100% proud. Other than some photos, I haven’t seen her yet, but judging by the amount the little cutie kicked inside the oven, she’s either going to be a soccer player or a handful.
Spoiler alert: Jack’s real name is not Jack; it’s Tony. He was never fond of the idea of being called “Uncle Tony”, and “Uncle Anthony” is a tongue twister for even an adult. A couple of months ago, I told him maybe he could go by the name “Uncle T”. He hummed and hawed until I decided to drop the subject altogether. Since then, I’ve put my thinking cap on.
Tony is not black. He is also not part of a team of war veterans framed for a crime they didn’t commit, running from the law whilst helping the innocent. And he most certainly doesn’t say “Pity the Foo”, but “Mr. T” is a pretty bad ass name. Imagine a child looking up to you to say, “Hey Mr. T, you’re the best!” It is impossible to not be the cool Uncle.
Of course, Mr. T will have to live up to his name. I assume he will do this by cutting prominent horizontal lines in the hair on his temples, and giving the kid whatever she wants: candy, piggy back rides, a brand new car when she turns 16, you name it.
I’m an Auntie and Jack’s Mr. T! I don’t know which one of us is more pumped for our new identities.