There will come an odd occasion when your cherished siblings will spawn.
You will always remember as quick to snitch to mummy when you stole the last cookie, for pinching your thighs under the dinner table, and stealing your glitziest mini skirt to take to a thirteen year olds slumber party. You’ll know quite how poor their judgement can sometimes be, for leaping head first into the stream in the heat of summer and ending up being hauled out with a cracked open skull, poking at bees nests, or bringing greasy haired rocker boys home from high school under mother’s disapproving gaze. You may know all this, and you can certainly just hope that they’ll bring a little more judgement into play when it comes to raising their own.
Don’t get me wrong, I love all my siblings. I now also adore all my little nieces and nephews (although I haven’t actually come face to face with one of them, beyond Skype, as he lives on the other side of the world). It is just terribly hard to imagine them as parents. I am personally semi blessed & half cursed in being surrounded with considerably older half-siblings. On one hand they are notably wiser and there were far fewer skirmishes when we did live together, growing up. On the other hand, it is slightly similar to having a posse of parents. There’s much less giggling in cahoots over having hidden daddy’s car keys, or gossiping over illicit teenage acts. Any talk of teenage crime receives a multitude of stern stares from across the dinner table.
Or at least it was. My brother was the first to bear his little boy (not physically bear that is, not quite a natural phenomenon). Seeing him with a mini-him did confirm quite what a wonderful father he is, and will be. It’s all the teasing of play of my childhood, but on a minimalist level with plenty of cuddles and care. Believe it or not, your siblings can actually change a nappy, even if they protested furiously at even clearing out the dishwasher, or cleaning up cat sick hidden in the study. My sister quickly followed suit with her daughter, even though we’re still at the stage of partially swapping and sharing clothes. Having just spent the Christmas period with my sister, her hubby and newborn, I was exposed again to just how tender my siblings can be. Clearly getting pregnant flips some sort of serious switch in the brain – or maybe they just save the brutal tormenting and ‘typewriter’ (which involves being pinned to the floor and repeatedly jabbed on the chest, courteously of my brother) for me nowadays.