My nephew (Broderick, a.k.a. Brady) now weighs the same amount as the Cat Named Jack. Of course I told my brother this, and, while he found it slightly amusing, I believe he also finds it annoying that I made a reference to the connection between an infant and a feline. I’m not saying that Jack is as important as a baby, but…wait…yes I am.

This may be one of the reasons that my brother and his wife had decided that I would be unfit to be Brady’s godmother. I am the one who asked my brother, before Brady’s birth, who the godparents would be. He threw out a couple options, myself not included. Upon hearing that I wasn’t a contender, I explained that I would have thought it odd had my sister-in-law chosen me to be in charge of their child’s spiritual wellbeing. My sister-in-law and I are quite different, as I may have mentioned previously. She finds me to be crude and most likely believes that I would be a bad influence. I don't feel that her reasoning has anything to do with spirituality, of which we have some common thoughts, but rather because my church attendance is limited to Christmas Eve and I live in sin and use naughty words quite regularly.

During a recent phone conversation I asked when the kid would be baptized, as he will soon be to big to fit in the baptismal font (although I don’t actually know how they do it, maybe they drop the kid in, or dangle him by his heel like Achilles’ mother did). They still don't have a date picked because they are waiting to see what would work for the godparents. Of course this begged the question of "who are the godparents?" This led to the most surprising statement of 2007 (ranking only slightly ahead of the roommates' decision to finally move out). He said “Bill and you,” meaning that his brother-in-law and I will be the chosen ones. Perplexed, I asked him to repeat. He said “Y-O-U. You.” Obviously, the lack of sleep due to new parenthood had thrust them into insanity, or the little one has already pissed off all likely candidates and they are scraping the bottom of the barrel. The former is more likely than the latter.

Bill, my godparent counterpart, is also without child. Perhaps they chose to spread the duties around so that those of us who are childless will not end up living in retirement homes with no one to visit us. Now, Brady will be guilted into visiting his godmother/aunt Trish, and I will call him Henry and pretend that I don't know who he is, just for my own amusement because I will be old and people will expect that I be senile.

Long story short, I’m the kid’s godmother. My brother confirmed that there isn’t much responsibility attached; since they already go to church each and every Sunday. Godmother is pretty much an arbitrary title that will only serve to justify the already copious amounts of gifts I bestow upon the baby. Plus, now I am able to add it to my business cards if the opportunity ever arises. And, if the kid grows up to be spectacular, which he likely will because we share genes, I can stake more claim to him. After all, his parents are just his parents, and I, the heathen that I am, am both aunt and godmother. Double bonus.

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