What? You mean you thought it was another man?
I’m in love with someone who isn’t my fiancé.
Before you start judging, let me explain . . .
I bet it’s even happened to you a time or two!
Last weekend, I met my niece for the very first time. She’s got a decent set of lungs on her and a temper that would have Bruce Willis shaking. I have seen babies before, and when they aren’t “yours” (closely related to you), they aren’t very exciting. Let’s be honest here: they look like little sleeping aliens. When their eyes ARE open, you wonder what information they are skimming from your brain to relay to their Mother Ship. My niece is different. She is scrawny and hairy, but the most gorgeous human being EVER. If you don’t agree, I will fight you.
I’m not exactly “Nanny McPhee” so naturally, I was nervous to hold her for the first time. The last thing you want to do is drop a baby. People get mad for some reason. The moment she was placed in my arms, my nerves settled, I melted, and then I cried. I fell in love with that squirmy, jaundiced, adorable little girl. I kissed her over 100 times over the course of a couple of hours. Someone call up Guiness, I’m convinced that’s a world record.
She’s not my fiancé, but she stole Auntie’s heart.
Mr. T would be the coolest Uncle EVER.
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.