Out pops little…Tennessee…such a lovely ring to it

Reese has done it. And she’s 36. And she has an eight-year-old. And she has a new husband. And she’s a moviestar. Okay, so the similarities end there but she does give those of us in the desperate thirty-something-mama category the tiniest flicker of hope that we too might one day get lucky. The little boy who she called, wait for it… Tennessee James, is her third child and was born yesterday – which was presumably around her due date because she was beginning to look like she’d smuggled a small African nation under her dress (I hear ya, sista, 26-kg gain over here).

She is a Southern belle n’ all, but Tennessee? Really? What do you shorten it to? Tennis ball? Yes it’s Hollywood but spare a thought for these little tykes who have to live with their names like, forever while their famous parents try to outdo each other with their I’m-going-to-name-my-baby-something-wilder-than-yours celebrity baby name game (yes Gwynnie, we’re talking to you). Lately there’s been Duke, Pilot and Bluebell (yes, actual real names of Hollywood bubs). Fortunately, the new bub’s more respectably-named older siblings sister, Ava, 12 and brother, Deacon, 8 escaped the name shame but you can’t help but wonder if the kids had a hand in naming him, or did they all just throw a bunch of crazy names in a hat?

If we gave in to our 8 y o, our phantom baby would be called Captain Rex Buddy Hudson. But since we’re not leaving the naming debate open to anyone under the age of 33, we’re safe. For now. He too is growing almost as impatient as his mother (of course he is, we do share the same genes after all) and has absolutely no grasp of the fact this gig could take longer than we all expect. To anyone with kids home on school holidays right now, you know that reasoning with a child is not one of life’s most easiest tasks.

“Mummy when will the baby come?” he asked me yesterday. The result of me telling him (in every hope of instilling good morals) that you cannot have a baby until you’re married. “Oh, well you have to wait until you’re blessed with one inside your belly and then it takes nine months to grow”. He looks at me a little quizically and determines I have no idea what I’m talking about. “I can’t wait that long for my brother, can’t we get one now?” ah yes, the impatience of the tiny generation. Everything has to happen yesterday. “But what if it doesn’t happen, what if we can’t get one?” he comes back at me. Something you know that I don’t, kiddo? “Well, you just have to hope and pray I guess, mate, that’s all,” I offer up. “Well, I hope it does. And when it comes, I’m gonna save up all my best Star Wars guys and give them to him. And I’m going to teach him how to ride a Penny (ridiculously overpriced retro-inspired skateboards). And then, when he’s like five or six, I’ll show him how to get to the next level on Star Wars Lego Wii.” Ah yes, that’s my boy, teach it all of life’s most important lessons!

But who am I kidding? I should count my lucky far away planets that he even wants a sibling at all. For almost nine years he has had me all to himself. No sharing. No waiting. No fighting. Just me. And for that, I’ll be encouraging any tricks he wants to hand down as a blessing. Even knife juggling…or maybe not…

Yours, Lady Mama G x