picked us. And even though he didn’t grow in my body, he grew in my heart. He was supposed to be our son—there really was no choice.”
Mackenzie breathes deep. “Well, the next time you decide to grow a baby, could you please tell your heart we need another girl around here?”
Matthew pulls her in for a hug and squeezes her tight. “I’ll do my best.”
Personally, I’m relieved they got a boy. You know that saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? That’s all wrong. It takes a village to raise a girl. Pick a headline—any headline. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus—it’s not their fault they’re train wrecks. It’s because they didn’t have people in their lives who cared enough about them to teach them. Prepare them for what is still mostly a man’s world.
Boys are easy. Keep the fridge stocked, smack them around once in a while, discourage them from jumping off the roof into the swimming pool, make sure they use soap when they shower. That’s pretty much it.
Girls are a whole other animal. You have to worry about low self-esteem and poor self-image, eating disorders, cutting, drug abuse, sluttiness, catty mean-girl attitudes, and the horde of adolescent bastards who are just dying to get their dicks wet and won’t give a damn if they leave a broken heart, pregnancy, or an STD in their wake.
Even though Mackenzie is coming along nicely, once puberty hits, all bets are off. The fewer distractions I have when those days come, the better.
As Matthew and Delores get up off the floor, I ask, “Where is Michael, anyway? With Helga?”
Unlike Kate and me, Matthew and Dee had no issues about hiring a nanny. And Delores may be crazy, but she’s not stupid—no way she was gonna have some sexy, young au pair rocking her cradle. Helga’s a professional Russian nanny. She’s suspicious and distrustful of anyone not related to Michael—and sometimes even of those who are. She bears a strong resemblance to Brutus from the Popeye cartoons. She’s got a femstache and a permanent scowl, and she could probably kick my ass with one hand tied behind her back.
I like her.
Because she thinks the sun rises and sets with my nephew. She calls him her babushka, and it’s easy to see that she’d lie, cheat, steal, or kill for him. That makes her okay in my book.
Mackenzie giggles. “Uncle Drew, Rain’s name isn’t Michael, it’s Rain.”
Dee-Dee’s eyes turn sharp as they regard me. “Uncle Drew knows his name, Mackenzie. He’s just being a jerk.”
I stare Dee-Dee down, not giving an inch. “Rain isn’t a name. It’s a meteorological event. Every child deserves a normal name. He’ll always be Michael to me.”
I’m working on having his birth certificate changed. A little forgery never hurt anyone. Christ, what kind of uncle would I be if I let the kid go through life with a fucking name like Rain? As if the chips weren’t already stacked against him with a crazy woman for a mother.
“You’re an ass.”
“It’s not his fault his mother’s a wack job and his father’s a victim of reverse spousal abuse.”
Matthew adds his pathetic two cents: “I like the name Rain.”
So sad.
I sneer, “No, you don’t.” I point to my temple. “That’s the brainwashing talking. She’s got you under her evil spell. You’ve been twat-notized by the golden watch between Dee’s legs.”
If I slap him hard enough, think he’ll snap out of it?
Delores doesn’t take it lying down. “Brainwashed? Look who’s talking. James is your golden watch. I swear sometimes that’s the only thing keeping Kate with you.”
A few years ago that comment would have bothered me. Not anymore. “Please. We all know it’s my dick that’s keeping her with me. And that’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so I’m really not worried.”
Before Dee can retaliate, the front door slams open with a bang, and the blur of an eight-year-old, light-haired boy comes barreling through the living room.
Mackenzie breathes deep. “Well, the next time you decide to grow a baby, could you please tell your heart we need another girl around here?”
Matthew pulls her in for a hug and squeezes her tight. “I’ll do my best.”
Personally, I’m relieved they got a boy. You know that saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? That’s all wrong. It takes a village to raise a girl. Pick a headline—any headline. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus—it’s not their fault they’re train wrecks. It’s because they didn’t have people in their lives who cared enough about them to teach them. Prepare them for what is still mostly a man’s world.
Boys are easy. Keep the fridge stocked, smack them around once in a while, discourage them from jumping off the roof into the swimming pool, make sure they use soap when they shower. That’s pretty much it.
Girls are a whole other animal. You have to worry about low self-esteem and poor self-image, eating disorders, cutting, drug abuse, sluttiness, catty mean-girl attitudes, and the horde of adolescent bastards who are just dying to get their dicks wet and won’t give a damn if they leave a broken heart, pregnancy, or an STD in their wake.
Even though Mackenzie is coming along nicely, once puberty hits, all bets are off. The fewer distractions I have when those days come, the better.
As Matthew and Delores get up off the floor, I ask, “Where is Michael, anyway? With Helga?”
Unlike Kate and me, Matthew and Dee had no issues about hiring a nanny. And Delores may be crazy, but she’s not stupid—no way she was gonna have some sexy, young au pair rocking her cradle. Helga’s a professional Russian nanny. She’s suspicious and distrustful of anyone not related to Michael—and sometimes even of those who are. She bears a strong resemblance to Brutus from the Popeye cartoons. She’s got a femstache and a permanent scowl, and she could probably kick my ass with one hand tied behind her back.
I like her.
Because she thinks the sun rises and sets with my nephew. She calls him her babushka, and it’s easy to see that she’d lie, cheat, steal, or kill for him. That makes her okay in my book.
Mackenzie giggles. “Uncle Drew, Rain’s name isn’t Michael, it’s Rain.”
Dee-Dee’s eyes turn sharp as they regard me. “Uncle Drew knows his name, Mackenzie. He’s just being a jerk.”
I stare Dee-Dee down, not giving an inch. “Rain isn’t a name. It’s a meteorological event. Every child deserves a normal name. He’ll always be Michael to me.”
I’m working on having his birth certificate changed. A little forgery never hurt anyone. Christ, what kind of uncle would I be if I let the kid go through life with a fucking name like Rain? As if the chips weren’t already stacked against him with a crazy woman for a mother.
“You’re an ass.”
“It’s not his fault his mother’s a wack job and his father’s a victim of reverse spousal abuse.”
Matthew adds his pathetic two cents: “I like the name Rain.”
So sad.
I sneer, “No, you don’t.” I point to my temple. “That’s the brainwashing talking. She’s got you under her evil spell. You’ve been twat-notized by the golden watch between Dee’s legs.”
If I slap him hard enough, think he’ll snap out of it?
Delores doesn’t take it lying down. “Brainwashed? Look who’s talking. James is your golden watch. I swear sometimes that’s the only thing keeping Kate with you.”
A few years ago that comment would have bothered me. Not anymore. “Please. We all know it’s my dick that’s keeping her with me. And that’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so I’m really not worried.”
Before Dee can retaliate, the front door slams open with a bang, and the blur of an eight-year-old, light-haired boy comes barreling through the living room.
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