Home where all the mums can sing,
Back where the children don't cry,
Home where you never ask why and
Everybody has enough, and y'don't have to put on clothes
Nobody has to hide 'case everyone already knows.*
Talking with Fuzzy the other night, musing over whether we'll ever have a child now that I'm nearly 35 – 11 days, god, that's so soon! – we cast roles for future family members. His is large, and he wants his sister to be godmother to this child that doesn't exist, hasn't even been conceived, though has been considered.
“Only,” I tell him, “If Jeremy is godfather. ” I don't point out that I've never had any such conversation with Jeremy. I think, but don't state, that it has nothing to do with one's organic, pagan beliefs serving as a balance to the other's conservative Christianity. It's just, there are some people with totally warm, comforting souls, who have a core of protection and strength even when their tempers are flaring.
Some people who know, without it needing to be said, whether you need a mocha or a hug, a dish of raspberries, or a totally irrational giggle-producing conversation .
Someone who you would totally trust with a small child, because he has never, and will never, lose touch with the child inside him.
Some things, I explain. Just feel right.
So, no we're NOT pregnant yet (for the record), but if we ever are, hey Jeremy, you're gonna get a phone call.