A little dust-up between cousins at nappy-change time is a reminder of the real virtues of family
It wasn’t a particularly hard smack. His fists are small, doughy things; fat and soft with dimples for knuckles, sunken into the flesh like the buttons of a sofa cushion. But it was a low blow, against his own cousin, and while she was having her nappy changed, no less. Even the most unreasonable prize fighter would never hit an opponent while they were lying down and, though I’ve never checked, I imagine that rule would count doubly if they were having their arse cleaned.
We had taken the boy to stay with his cousins, Ardal and Nora, last week. My son is the baby of the entire family, so all his cousins fawn over him, despite being only negligibly older themselves. At just under two, Nora is the second youngest, an incorrigibly sweet-natured girl with a blazing smile and a mop of tight blonde curls, yet she acts like she’s never seen something so delightfully childish as my son in her long and storied life.
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