My sister tied the knot four years ago. Now shes the proud mum of a three-year-old lad called Oliver, which conveniently makes me his aunt and godmother. I’m twenty-two, juggling university and a job. Occasionally, I get evenings when I can actually see my friendsthough, lets be honest, those are as rare as a sunny bank holiday. Its quite the circus trying to balance everything, but I do my best.
My sister, who is Olivers mother, doesnt work. Shes forever popping into shops; I have absolutely no clue who shes dressing up for. Her husband is constantly off on work trips, wandering the country for months at a time. Oliver goes to nursery; she drops him off in the morning, spends the day either at home or galloping around the High Street.
The other day, she rang me up: Help me! Ive got an appointment for my nails. I cant go with the child. Since I had nothing planned that evening, I agreed. After lectures, I swung by the nursery and picked him up.
A week later, her husband finally bumbled back from his business trip. Help me, take Oliver! My husbands here. We havent seen each other in ages and want some time alone. I can look after him, but only until eight, I said. Thanks, sis! she squealed. And, naturally, nobody turned up. No matter how many times I rang and messaged, crickets. Oliver sobbed, waiting desperately for Mum and Dad. They strolled in at midnight, all cheery and fresh-facedclearly had quite the night out.
But wait, the saga continues! Three days later, they ring again. They were planning to celebrate her birthday, but shockingly didnt want to drag Oliver along. Oh, brilliant. But you know, I actually have a life of my own. You are his mother, not me. You know very well Ive got uni and work. Hes your son; take him with youtherell be plenty of other kids at the party. She threw a proper sulk, so I rang Mum. Mum gave her a bit of a talking-to. Honestly, she sits at home and somehow expects everyone else to babysit her child…
