Effie & Simon

It is high time the world realised that not everyone should have children. Some of us are born to be superb aunts and uncles, and we are not lesser for that fact.

Take me, for example. I feel ambivalent towards children. I am an utterly devoted uncle to Lorelai, but not sure how I would fare if I was to have any of my own.

Take my sister. Exhibit B: Effie. She was never a natural mother. Perhaps, if there were rightness in the world, then those of us who would make good parents would be the attractive ones. It would be more logical, wouldn't it? By these lights, Effie would have been a plain Jane indeed, and perhaps she'd have been living in my shadow.

Resentment? Again? I have so much to resent her for, besides that she outshone me in the beaty department all our lives.

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It began that Christmas that Lorelai was born. Effie winced home from the hospital on Christmas morning. After much oohing and ahhing over the pink bundle, preparation for Christmas lunch got under way.

It went like this: my mother would peel, chop, mash, stir, marinade, prick, glaze, heat, chill, and broil. Meanwhile, Effie sat on the sofa with an unreasonable amount of cushions, holding the baby and beaming. Father sat close by, pride leaking out of every pore. Every once in a while he would scurry to fetch her a drink, or another cushion, or to let Mother know Effie needed a pot of tea, or some hot buttered toast.

I hovered between the two locations. I was assigned a pinny and set to the most basic of tasks. Washing a pot, or stirring a sauce, or, on Father's instruction, slicing up an apple for Effie.

Every once in a while, I would poke my head in on Father and Effie and ask them if they needed anything. Effie and I were as yet unreconciled, so I kept these visits brief. For the same reason, Effie undoubtedly made sure to say they wanted for nothing, even if that wasn't the case.

During lunch, Mother marched up and down with the baby who seemed loathe to let her sit down. Father cut up her turkey for her, gravy rapidly congealing on the plate. Effie ate placidly. I reflected that it was wonderful that my parents were so supportive while my sister was recovering. Perhaps, if I did one day have a family, my wife might be amenable to styaing here a while and letting my mother take of her in just the same way.

None of us mentioned Lonnie. His name surfaced only once, when baby names were being dicussed.

"What about Elspeth?" Mother said.

Effie pulled a face. "I'd like to call her Leonie."

"It's rather similar to Lonnie, don't you think, sweetheart?" Mother replied.

I'm sure I pulled a face. I looked away until I managed to smooth the revulsion from my features. My sister did a superb job of pretending not to notice.

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After lunch, my sister went for a long nap, while Mother marched up and down some more.

"I suppose," I said in all ignorance, "the baby kept her awake all last night."

"Nonsense! The nurses won't have that," Mother said, with a touch of oddly placed pride. "Babies spend the night in the nursery so the mothers can rest."

It took a long time to rouse Effie so that the baby could be fed.

That night, the same pattern repeated. The baby woke me, three rooms away, before her mother, sleeping soundly next to her. All of Boxing Day, we trod on eggshells to avoid upsetting Effie, who was puffy-faced and cross.

At the time, I tried not to judge, especially after my sister and I made peace. After all, I'm no parent, and I hardly know any.

I have no such compunctions, now.

By New Year's Eve, the baby was on bottles, Effie was cinched into a sequinned dress and heading out to a party. She always loved a party. The shadows under her eyes had gone, having touched her only briefly, and she looked like her old self.

I was amazed that such a new mother could manage to go out, quite as if she hadn't just had a baby. My mother tutted at me in Feminist.

"I just thought," I stammered, "that it would ruin her dress. You know. The milk..." I gestured vaguely to my own pigeon-chest, and felt the heat rise in my face.

"The doctor gave her a shot for that, and I've had her putting cabbage leaves in her bra all week," my mother said boldly, daring either of us men to pass comment. I closed my mouth, and refused to even look at Father, glimpsing him only in my peripheral vision. He was scowling, presumably considering this information far too modern for his ears.

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I think our parents assumed the same as me: that Effie would be home perhaps a little after midnight.

She was gone for two days.

They telephoned her of course, each time being assured that she was fine, and having a wonderful time. Sometimes she also said, "thank you soooo much for doing this Mummy," and on one such occasion, even, "Is Lorelai alright?"

We three were left holding the baby. We planned to take care of her in shifts, but the reality was that Father let Mother and I do most of it. Actually, I let Mother do most of it, as well, for the first shift, and then I did most of it under her supervision for the second. After that, Mother did the bathing and changing, and I did almost everything else. The feeding, the winding, the swaddling, shushing, and marching up and down.

I judge my sister, now, for her actions back then, but at the time I felt only contentment. As trying as it is when the little one is fretful, there are few things more satisfying than successfully soothing a crying infant, and having them fall asleep in the safety of your arms.

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Early on the third day, Effie burst in unannounced. She was a whirlwind of new clothes, shopping bags, and a bright red smile. The only reason she didn't take off and fly away (again) like a sycamore seed was the weight of the rock on her third finger.

Even Mother was a little stony-faced, directing Effie to the growing pile of laundry which my sister dived into with the unbridled enthusiasm of someone who has not been caring for a newborn infant around the clock for the last few days.

"Goodness," she said, "For someone so small, she does get through a lot of clothes, doesn't she?"

"Yes," I said, "She does."

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These early days set the tone for our evolving family.

I have no doubt whatsoever that Effie loved her daughter. She just wasn't very good at the drudgery. Charitably, I tell myself: who wouldn't outsource much of it, if they were able, and allow themselves to parent in such a way that they largely enjoyed it? Effie parented much the way a father often does, leaving his wife to manage. Or how many rich folks delegate to nannies and the like.

In this way, Effie outsourced much of the actual day-to-day parenting to Mother, Father, and me. For our part, we three enabled her behaviour. Our parents because they adored her, could see little fault in her, and would do anything for her. And I, because Lorelai was rapidly becoming the most important person in the world to me, and I would take any opportunity to spend time with her and see her smile.

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Thank you for reading

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