On Being A Godmother

My husband, John, has a really wonderful extended family. His three sisters, his cousins, their spouses, and all the kids are intelligent, interesting, kind and funny people. I really love them and am so happy to be a part of the Mallett clan, even if it's just by marriage. They have all been terrific and have embraced me from 1990 when I first met John.

Part of being embraced included John's cousin's daughter asking me to be godmother to her firstborn child, a beautiful little boy. I was honoured, if a little bit bewildered. I had only known her for a couple of years but, more importantly, I am very obviously not a "kid person."

For the most part, I do not like and am not interested in children. I was forced by my mother to babysit from the age of 13 onward. At a very young age I learned children are a big commitment requiring a lot of sacrifice that involves next to no reward.

The summer I was 13 we moved from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Kingston, Ontario. A family down the street from our new house had four little boys under the age of 6. My then 17 year old sister (the one I refer to as "Gigi" on this blog) took the job of babysitting for these boys, Monday to Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. as both their parents were working full time that summer.

Gigi no sooner started the babysitting gig when she landed a much better paying job waitressing. Rather than leave the family with four boys high and dry, it was somehow decided that 13 year old me was going to take on the 40 hour per week responsibility! I never volunteered and certainly didn't want to do it - it got foist upon me, no choice, no complaining allowed, suck it up kiddo.

Every weekday for two months I dutifully went down the block to the little house where four rambunctious little boys shared the second bedroom, and I kept them all alive and in one piece until 5:00 p.m. It was h-e-l-l. I've never been so exhausted and, at times, so revolted. I will never forget trying to get them cleaned up after dinner one night and prepped for bed. I'd sent them into the bathroom to wash up and brush their teeth. I heard a commotion and walked into the bathroom to see that one of them had emptied the full toddler potty into the sink (which had the stopper in) and they were all dipping their toothbrushes into a swirling mess of pee and the biggest turd a toddler could possibly poop out!

Another permanently traumatizing memory was taking them all to the park one afternoon and actually being taken for their mother! I was THIRTEEN, for heaven's sake!!! Yes, I was 5 feet, 10 inches tall by that age (another source of emotional trauma) but what idiot could have ever mistaken me for the mother of four! All I can think is that I must have had a very exhausted, world weary air about me.

Long story made short...I had my tubes tied when I was 30 years old. I did not want to be a mother. And I have never once regretted my decision. Don't get me wrong - parenthood and kids are great...for OTHER people.

So, now back to 1993 and the flattering request to be a source of guidance and support to a little person who is the apple of someone else's eye. Even I could not say no. What I did say was that I could not be counted on for much except financial support. I said I'd be good for Christmas and birthday cards and monetary gifts. I immediately opened a special savings account and I faithfully made deposits at Christmas and birthdays for 17 years, sending a special card each time with the new bank balance for my godson. As he got older, sometimes I would get a thank you, but most times there was silence. Occasionally his mother would e-mail me and let me know he appreciated what I was doing.

This continued until March 2010. My godson was turning 17. I topped up the savings account to an even $1,600.00 and sent him a bank draft cashable for the total amount. I have heard nothing from him. The way kids text these days I think it's unconscionable that he could not spare 3 minutes to e-thank me for the cashola. But, so be it. The gravy train has ended and the fairy godmother has retired her financial wand. Maybe he will miss the cards and the growing bank account, but more likely he won't. I know I won't miss the stress of ensuring these things get done twice a year so that I will have fulfilled my basic duty. Guess I should have volunteered to teach him some better manners.

Todo bien, amigas. (It's all good, friends).