Sang some nursery rhymes to my baby nephew last night…
Me: “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man….bake me a cake as fast as you can….rollllllllllll it….
(long, confused pause)
Me: “Do something elllllllllse to it….”
Brother in law: “Pat it! You gotta PAT it!”
Yeah, well, fuck this. Auntie Em doesn’t bake.
I don’t get it– my sister and brother in law are totally fine with me calling my chubby-cheeked baby nephew “little porker” or “my little pork pie,” but the second I suggest we stick an apple in his mouth and roast him over a fire, they get all weird.
You would think having their photo taken would be the ONE thing babies would be good at, given that they are so damn cute. But let me tell you something– babies are TERRIBLE at taking a selfie. Like, shockingly bad.
I tried taking one with my nephew all night, and he would not cooperate for ANY of them. He either blocked my mouth with his little alien hands, made the “I’m totally shitting myself” face (likely because he was), gave himself six chins, or stuck out his tongue like a drunk uncle. It’s like he was purposely TRYING to take the world’s first photo that Valencia couldn’t fix.
Luckily I Magic Hour-ed that shit and managed to filter out all the drool. It doesn’t matter WHOSE drool it was, guys. The point is, I fixed it.
Because I am good at things, baby nephew. Pay attention to your Auntie Em and maybe you’ll learn some things. You know, important things. Things EVERY SINGLE Kardashian knows how to do.
On an unrelated note, I should never have children.
I just answered the door for the guy delivering my lunch, with my nephew in my arms.
Delivery Guy: “Oh my god, that’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen! Wow! Is he yours?”
Me: “Yes. Yes he is.”
I don’t know. It just happened.
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