Am I Pregnant?

The immediate answer, is NO I AM NOT.

However, last night we arrived in Cardiff to visit Mr G's family for the weekend, and nothing could hide the disappointment on his parents' faces when I proudly informed them that what looked suspiciously like a three month baby bump was nothing more than just food.

But thanks to Senior G for agreeing that I had put on a bit of weight. At least he's honest.

In fact, a while ago I really wanted a baby but I am actually petrified at the thought of one day becoming a parent. In past babysitting sessions, I have given my nephew a black eye whilst changing his nappy (!), given him some couscous to try which made him projectile vomit all over a farm shop, and two weeks ago when he was having a major tantrum, I convinced myself he was in the early stages of fatal poisoning as a result of eating mouse poison at my house in spite of never being out of my sight the whole time he was there.
Whilst trying to calm me down an hour later, when my nephew had miraculously recovered and was dancing around the living room, perhaps rather wisely, my mother suggested I "should never have any children of my own".

So it was with great surprise last week that I received a text from my other sister, asking if I would like to babysit my newest nephew, JEdwards, whilst everyone else went out to watch Them Crooked Vultures.
That's right, me, having sole responsibility for a 3 month old BABY. Unsupervised. On my own.
By myself.

I later discovered that my parents were also out for the evening so it must have been out of pure desparation that my poor sister had asked me, but she hid her anxiety well when she brought him round.

Armed with notepad and pen, I took detailed notes of his bedtime routine and got my sister to demonstrate under a warm tap the exact temperature that his milk needed to be, then I had a quick lesson in how to wind him properly. "You need to do it a bit harder than that!", I was advised whilst everyone else laughed at me nervously tapping his back "Oh, and he prefers to be held up on your shoulder rather than cradled". Up on shoulder. Noted.

Confidently, we all said our goodbyes and then me and JEdwards were left alone.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!

JEdwards looked at me. I looked at him. If he could talk he probably would have said something like "What the hell were my parents thinking leaving me with YOU? Do you even know how to look after a baby? Don't answer! It's obvious you don't!"

Just then, the merry theme tune of Murder, She Wrote came on the TV and I had an idea. I turned the baby round so he could see the TV. This was bound to work! There's nothing like a bit of JB Fletcher to soothe anyone to sleep.
He started screaming.

"On the shoulder" I remembered, and heaved him up over my shoulder, turning my back to the TV. Still screaming.
I shuffled around a little bit and noticed that at certain points the screaming would turn to whimpering, then almost stop. Something had caught his eye. It sure as hell wasn't Jessica Fletcher, so what on earth could it be? I followed his gaze and realised he was mesmerised by our Tesco Value Christmas Tree (still doing me proud after 6 years).

Ah haaaaa, pretty quickly myself and JEdwards came to a mutual understanding and the rest of the night passed without any major dramas. I even managed to feed him without giving him second degree burns.

I wish I'd had a free hand to picture the moment everyone returned to find me reclining on the sofa watching a bit of Miami Vice, a sound asleep baby wrapped up in my arms.

"No, he's not dead!" I reassured them, and then handed him over to his mother as I had been bursting for a wee for the past three hours but was too scared to leave him in case he rolled off the sofa (he's not even old enough to roll, apparently), or got mauled to death by Lucy, the Bichon Frise.

The next morning I got a text from my sister that said:

"You can look after JEdwards every night if you want, he slept right through till 8.15 and I had to wake him up!"

Perhaps I'm getting better!