Choosing a god mother and father has been something of a dilemma for myself and the Irish one. Actually I take that back. It has been a dilemma for me. (The one with DRAMA QUEEN stamped under her passport picture.)
The Irish one picked his best friend. Who is brilliant, lovely and funny as hell. I don’t know him very well yet, but he is fantastic with Addison and only lives half an hour away, so I am sure this situation will be rectified over time. His girlfriend has a fondness for shopping and vodka I can totally relate to aswell, so I was pleased with the Irish ones choice. Great godfather who comes with a wicked new friend for me! Winner!
See and that’s where we differ. The Irish one faces a problem or dilemma and he fixes it. (The Irish one with Jim stamped under his passport picture. – As in, Jim’ll fix it. His real name is not Jim. Its Alan. Just in case you were wondering. The Irish one that is. Not the godfather. (Cue freaky music and a dead horses head.) The godfathers name is Foxy. I don’t know why. It just is. They are Irish!…… I’ll shut up now.)
For me on the other hand it wasn’t so easy. Not because I am a lonely cow, who nobody loves (cough cough lying cow cough cough) But because I am hugely popular and desirable and everybody loves me. (cough cough that’s what you think cough cough.)
In all honesty though, it was a tough call because I have so many beautiful and lovely women in my life, I wanted to chose them all. Which I very nearly did. (I got a bit giddy on gas and air during the labour and apparently was asking anybody who gave me an internal, to be my sons spiritual guide. Including the lunch lady. She didn’t give me an internal. I just asked her. To be godmother that is. Not to give me an internal…… Ill shut up now.)
I am not religious. My understanding of god mother was always ‘she who shall look after my child if I was to be hit by a bus’ and ‘she who shall baby-sit at a moments notice and guide my son through girls, smoking and the importance of using a condom.’ (When he is older, that is. MUCH MUCH MUCH OLDER!) and obviously -‘she who shall take a haggard mother out on the piss following a horrific birthing experience and hold her hair back while she vomits up three glasses of wine, a vodka cranberry and a dodgy chicken kebab’
So who was the lucky woman?
Well obviously my oldest and bestest friend in the whole world. The friend I made secret ‘dens’ with when I was five. The friend who’s mum was allowed to tell me off for being cheeky. The friend who came with us on every family holiday growing up. The friend who got me in trouble. The friend who I got in trouble, and the friend who carried me through the death of my only brother in 2005. She is more than my friend. She is my family. She is somebody I admire and somebody I want my son to love as much as I do. She is charming, gorgeous, caring, kind, sensitive, a total nutcase and most of all? She is a bloody great laugh!!!!! If I get hit by a bus? I want my son to laugh.
(Not by the fact I was hit by a bus but later in life. I want him to have laughter in his life. But not directly after. A little bit of grieving would be nice. I mean, I held his butt cheeks apart to help him fart, for godsake. So yes son, laugh, but not straight away. You know what I mean right?…..I’ll shut up now.)
So well done Kate! You are Addison’s God-mummy! He loves you, I love you, we all love you!
Can you baby-sit Friday night?
