When my twin announced she was pregnant in the summer of 2015, I reacted as any mature, emotionally well-adjusted sister would react: “Wait, what? Are you for real? Is this your way of getting out of drinking? Am I on Candid Camera?” Needless to say, I was confused. So my sister slapped the ultrasound film on the table to confirm: shit couldn’t be realer. Five months later, that confusion was confounded when it came time to shop for a gift on her baby registry. There were “WubbaNubs.” “Boppies.” And some barbaric contraption that lets parents suction their baby’s boogers out using A STRAW. I knew I needed to get my twin something more meaningful than a $7 baby butt spatula. So I stuck to what I knew: I wrote a book.
Joining the ranks of revered auteurs like Tori Spelling, Bethenny Frankel, and Mario Lopez, I wrote my niece a baby book. It’s based on a true story about our late, great Dad. The man who took his lawnmower on joyrides at 2:00 in the morning. The myth who thought “tapas bar” was just another way of pronouncing “topless bar.” The legend who could park a 20-foot camper in reverse on the first try. Dad loved the little things in life. And with this book, his little granddaughter will know he would have counted her among them, too.