Shit on my hands |
Bunny Banyai and Madeleine Hamilton write about motherhood |
MH
Like nearly everyone else on the worldwide interweb I wanted to make a best-of 2009 list. But everything I wrote was a little lame. Either I was drivelling on with overly earnest ‘when I looked into my baby daughter’s eyes for the first time’ highlights, or my idea of ‘had-to-cross-my-legs-really-hard-so-as-not-to-pee-my-pants’ moments weren’t actually that funny at all once I’d gone to the bother of typing them up
(except for this: facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1113326433977&ref=share).
Nor did I wish to rehash incidents I’ve already posted on. I can’t even really write about our Christmas celebrations which, while highly enjoyable, were hardly remarkable. And our idea of a crazy New Year’s Eve was two alcopops, a Woody Allen DVD and NOT loading the dishwasher.
But we did have a rather interesting time on the 27th when my wonderful ‘made it in Hollywood’ Australian actress cousin had her baby christened at the Sacred Heart in St Kilda. We parked the car in Barkly Street and walked up Grey Street with my 13-year-old niece A who had come down from the country especially for the event. As is the tradition amongst 13 year old girls in my family A was attired in what can only be called ‘attention-grabbing’ garb. i.e. shiny black halter neck dress barely covering her bum, messy bed hair and hot pink kitten heels. Being the impatient trollop I am, I sped up the street with T in her baby carrier while A tottered along unsteadily next to M. The visible discomfort endured by hubby as passersby tried to figure out if he was the pimp or john to what looked like a baby prostitute was, in my twisted mind, highly entertaining. All that was needed was a Travis Bickle-type to leap out from Eildon Road and attempt to re-establish the moral order via violent retribution against M for the scenario to reach its hilarious conclusion (that’s a joke by the way).
The christening was lovely (if you’re into that kind of thing) with my Jesuit uncle doing the service, and T roaming about on the floor trying to gouge out other babies eyes and eat those religious candle thingies. Actress cousin looked like a divine European 1960s movie star in an orange shift dress, towering stilettos, beehive ‘do and perfect make-up. Asked by the priest why she wanted her baby baptised, she replied ‘So she can follow the revolutionary philosophies of Jesus Christ’. The rest of us looked like, well, most Melburnians early on a Sunday morning – bloody average.
Service over, we trekked down to the Veg Out community gardens for a beautifully catered morning tea (except A who could no longer walk in her kitten heels and had to be driven there by M still trying exceptionally hard to not look like a seedy old man). I gave T a baguette crust to chew on just in time for her to be noticed by the professional photographer recording the gathering. Here was our chance to at last get some decent portraits taken of our little darlin’ (for free!). But would T allow herself to be separated from her just acquired bread? Not a chance. While the gorgeously French accented snapper beseeched T to give him ‘just a leetle smile’, her fist remained firmly wrapped around her prized crust and crammed in her gob. Gotta love a girl who’ll take food over glamour.
Thanks for reading. Hope you’ll stay with us in 2010!
