Chippie’s Christening today.
We were all organised, the cake picked up and dropped off at the restaurant, and the “How come you Christened me without asking me?” questions deftly avoided.
Christenings aren’t really my thing, and I’m not a particularly religious person. Certainly not practicing. I’m not even Catholic. Grumpy is, but less practicing than I am. If that is possible. But I’m always up for a party, and this is what he wanted, so I went along with it. Besides, I didn’t have the energy to discuss it further … what with all the lack of sleep I’ve had lately.
The Christening gown was obtained from some great aunt or other removed relative. It’s been in the family, and worn by most, if not all, the descendants of Grumpy’s great-grandmother. It’s 108 years old, or maybe 104, but we do know it was worn by Aunt Nellie who is 104. Or 106. Or maybe she’s 103 or 105. Old anyhoo.
Strict instructions re cleaning of gown were given. No dry cleaning, no putting in washing machine, etc etc etc. We decided just to not let it get dirty.
Off we walked to church for the mass and Christenings of several other babies. The priest advised me “loved Christening babies” but he sounded really sarcastic to me. And I know sarcasm.
We sat and watched the kids squirm. My phone went off (whoopsie) with it’s ‘new’ ringtone that the kids had set. A year old recording of (then) 4-year-old Godzilla.
“Hello, Mummy. Hello, Mummy. Hello, Mummy. Hello, Mummy,” with increasing volume.
Glares from everyone around me. Chippie handed to Grumpy’s sister, and Chippie’s new godmother. Suddenly, she looks at me, points to Chippie’s bottom and says “Oh, no.”
Then “The Gown!”
We grab the nappy bag and race out the nearest door. Its a foyer area, but no time to look for anywhere else. Not with The Gown! That, and I had a new bag which had a funky little adjoined change mat.
We flopped him on the mat, and with lots of “Oh, shit” and “Oh, shit” and “Oh, shit, it’s everywhere” and “Oh, fuck, not The Gown! Is it on The Gown?” and lots more “oh shits” and “be careful of The Gown’s” we managed to change his nappy, clean him up, remove the pooey suit he was wearing, and redress him in a singlet and the (safe) Gown. Not quite what I’d envisaged him wearing underneath, but slightly better than nothing.
I just hope no-one heard us!
Returned inside, where Monkey Boy had relocated himself next to several different relatives, then came and sat by me. “Why are there no pictures of the Devil in church?” he enquired. Not able to answer that correctly (I’m not Catholic after all, and he is so he should know!) I mumbled something about Catholics not liking him very much so they prefer not to have pictures of him, and maybe it was a question best suited for Daddy.
He pew hopped a bit more, returned, asked some additional questions about why Chippie was wearing a dress and how come he has to look like a girl on his Christening day and then “Can you tell I’m bored?”
Actually, now you mention it, yes, I can!
Ceremony completed, photos taken, then off to lunch. Godzilla whisked out part way through to attend a five-year-old birthday party, very important, cake chopped and eaten, and the remainder boxed up for us to take home.
Grumpy and Monkey Boy went off with some relatives for some other thing, while I went and picked Godzilla up. Godzilla, whom had overeaten and thrown up on himself. So back home, change of clothes for him, and off agian to retreive Monkey Boy and Grumpy.
Driving home, Monkey Boy remembered his question.
“Daddy, why don’t they have pictures of the Devil in church? They should have one on the door, with a red circle around it and a line through it.”
Ever the enlightened and well-informed Christian, Grumpy replied “Because then your mother wouldn’t be allowed in.”
But Monkey Boy was too clever, “I think they’d throw you out first!”