'I really should have planned better', Nigel thought as he looked down at the infant, finally asleep in his bassinet. He now wore hand-me-downs, in a light blue sweater with a white collar, a red bow tie, a cloth diaper, and bright red shoes and blue socks. It had only been a few hours and the house was a mess from a few feedings, and of course Nigel having to get things out of storage. There were boxes of baby clothes and few old useable things covering his sofa, and bookshelf, and one small table under the pictures of those like Nana Ratburn, his sister and he as children, and their parents. Nigel took one look at all of the, well, rats on the wall, smiling upon the room and he fought very hard not to chuckle. He hadn't even told them. How would he tell them? His sister, Rodentinia, at least had her husband still, even if it was a little rocky. The closet Nigel got to a date lately was two years ago when he had an outting with a dog named Frederique, they had some dinner, saw a movie Nigel couldn't remember, had some coffee and- well, the rest wasnt to be told in polite company, certainly not even fit to even remember probably in front of his new son. His son- even if it would be hard to explain, he smiled at the thought of it. Like the pictures on the wall Nigel smiled down at his son. He moved slowly to not wake the boy as he scooped him up, resting the little boy on his chest, the small hand gripped the fabric of Spooky Poo on Nigel's weekend shirt as the ra leaned back into his armchair.

"You know, "broken" as they say or not, you have very good taste, Arthur." Nigel said gently, his voice would never dip into baby-talk, that could only hurt the child's development (his mother used to say that to Nigel's aunt, she had roughly six children and each ended up with varying speech issues. The twins being the only one thst couldn't be blamed on baby talk going on too long) and addressing the boy by his name would probably help him learn it sooner. He never could figure out how the baby store kept track of all the children, numbers seemed too much like Ayn Rand's Anthem for his taste. Removing his shoes, Nigel put his feet up on the ottoman and closed his eyes for just a second.

When they shot open again, his wrist-watch was going off and there his sister stood over him with a frown holding her own baby. She did not look happy, and it was very hard to make unhappy.

Then a panicked went through Nigel as he sat up with no baby on his chest.

"You were suppose to be by at 2, and you didn't answer,Nigee." She said, shockingly very stern. But the second crying came from her bundle her voice changed to a high pitched cooing,

"Ooh dont worry baby, mommy's not mad at yoo, just dumby Uncle Nigee." She said rocking it, Nigel would've rolled his eyes, but crying started from the bassinet and he breathed a sigh as he scooped the boy up. There was no way hed let Aunt Rondentia babysit unless she was the last sitter on Earth.