I got a text from my sister in law last Friday. "Can you do me a huge favour and look after your nephew for an hour or so while I do some shopping? Bring Dylan along." (To protect identities, I will refrain from using names here - or substitute fake ones - so get used to 'the kid' and 'the baby'!)

"Wow!" was my immediate thought... My nephew was nearing two and a half years of age and I'd never spent any alone time with him! Always people around us and with so many extended family members and my having to care for our folks... this had never been on my radar.

I was chuffed, really. I love the kid. And the kid loves Dylan see, they have this strange affinity where age is irrelevant?

So off we went, Dylan taking along his laptop and phone. The conversation in the car was the usual Reddit banter. We're only 15 minutes away, and the traffic was light - being between peak hours.

My sister in law was feeding my nephew an egg when we walked in... pheww... because as a vegan, you know?

Anyhow, she left us some verbal instructions about how to prepare baby formula... We didn't take anything of what she said in... since the baby was assumed to be going with her? We said plenty of "uh huh" and "yep" and "sure" to the series of instructions. Then she said something about the kid and yoghurt and walnuts. Dylan and I nodded, and then she left.

The cleaner was also there at the same time, doing her thing. Once the kid had finished - and no longer smelled like soft-boiled egg - Dylan and I sat on the couch with him and turned the TV off. This because the minute it was turned on, the kid just toddled off and stood in front, senses awry by the rainbow colours and the 'happy' sounds...

I looked at Dyls as he got a book out of the box and started to chat to the kid about the dogs on each page... Then he got to the page where it said "Dogs poop". There was a small tab on the side; the kid moved it up and down and the dog cocked a leg and a stream of urine could be seen?

"Mum?"

"Ummm... books have changed a lot?"

"Yeah well I'm not reading anymore."

The cleaner popped her head in. "The baby's crying!"

Dylan and I looked at each other. Baby. This turned into "Baby?" Quickly converting to "Baby!!!!!" as I raced up the stairs. I found the baby in its crib and I swear it stopped crying long enough to... frown? Yep, definitely, I can attest to three month olds having the ability to frown. I got a frown followed by a very puzzled look: Like "You're definitely NOT who I was expecting, and where is my mother?" 

I picked him up and yeah, he started nuzzling. Brought it all back. The relentless seeking for something to latch on to, the insistent and persistent nudging for nourishment? Only I wasn't nourishment and there was no latching on to anything on me? So baby of course responded accordingly: "You are definitely NOT my mother, and I don't think I'll be fed? Wahhhh wahhhh!!!!"

Making my way downstairs and talking baby talk to distract hungry baby, I walked into the living room. Dylan was attempting to 'swat' the kid away, the kid of course making this a game, and jumping all over Dylan. His eyes... was my son pleading? Or was that a veiled "I'll deal with you later," look?

My own eyes were saying "Did you retain any of the information earlier? I have a hungry baby here!"

"Six scoops, 150ml." I got my answer. Bless him.

"Ummm... either you hold baby and I make the formula or-"

"Okay, I am making the formula!"

So I stood, gently rocking baby and watching Dylan as he attempted to scoop, tap, and pour the formula into the small bottle. Where had the time gone? I had been him just yesterday, and he had been 'baby'!

That done, there was a pause. A long pause.

"Oh!"

"She didn't say where we heat it."

"You sure?" This from me, eyeing the microwave suspiciously and recalling any number of articles about NOT heating formula in a microwave? We'd thrown ours out years ago see, and now we stood in front of one?

"Has to be microwave mum."

Hmmm.

"I need to change his nappy, so can you put it in there... just a short burst, it's only a small amount."

"Okay." No confident tone in that word.

As a mum, I was aware of this thing that kicks in, where your sense of smell disappears in these situations, making it easier to 'deal' efficiently with the whole 'remove-wipe-never mind the shit on your sleeve-put some cream-attach new nappy snuggly' process? Well, as a temporary mum, I discovered this only kicks in with your own kids? Yeah.

Dylan appeared with the bottle in hand.

"Did you test it on your wrist?"

"What?"

"Test it on the inside of your wrist; make sure it's not too hot or cold!"

"I am not splattering milk on my wrist! You take it!"

The bottle was hot. Dylan looked hotter... as in "What hell is this and when did I sign up for it?"

"Get a pan, fill it with cold water and let the bottle rest in there for a bit hon, it will cool it."

He walked off muttering about how was he supposed to know these things and some other stuff not so repeatable. The kid in the meantime had 'found' Dylan's phone and somehow (at just two years and three or so months) had navigated his way via a series of swipes and taps... to the cat piano. Yep. You tap the keys and cats meow accordingly. Swipe across, and the cats are hollering maniacally. The kid was swiping and making equally delightful sounds?

"Dylan your phone!"

The kid had broken his mother's IPhone screen that very morning - so we were told earlier? Unlike his mother, this was Dylan's first IPhone (found on a train and don't ask about the whole 'cracking' it thing...) so he was quite precious about it?

Ended up Dylan sat alongside the kid and yeah... I paced with hungry baby in arms and checked the bottle every minute serenaded by the drum app, the guitar app, the piano minus the cats app...

"I have to feed the baby now, can you pop the kid in his chair and get the yoghurt and walnuts?"

You ever had your own kid hate on you? Like really, really and absolutely promise to pay you back in the most uncomfortable and publicly humiliating manner? This was concreted into my immediate future. No doubt about it.

His head in the fridge, I heard "No kid yoghurt. There's a tub of Greek yoghurt? What's Greek yoghurt?"

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"Ask the cleaner, she might know?" Yeah, I said that. And in saying that, I sealed my fate.

He came back and without saying a word, lumped some yoghurt into a plastic bowl, heaped the bowl with small chunks of walnuts, plonked a plastic spoon in and then sat the kid in the chair. Silence is not always golden. Trust me.

"Ummm... Dylan, he might need a bib?"

The kid was meanwhile pointing to the television. So it must be a thing, we figured? Dylan turned it on and started scrolling through the menu.

"Not Spongebob... please?"

I sat through Spongebob... I had sat through enough Spongebob for at least two lifetimes with my own? Baby was sucking on the bottle for dear life, so much so he was getting tired and nodding off, prompting the odd gentle nudge from me. Oh those moments! I wished - no I pushed the thought away!

The kid... what can I say? He was using both hands to dig into the bowl and hunt down walnuts? There was more yoghurt on him and in the immediate vicinity than in him?

"Dylan..."

He got up. He found the roll of kitchen paper. He kept pulling on that roll until he had about two metres worth of paper. Then with what he considered sufficient 'buffer' between his fingers and the almighty mess, he started wiping. Only the kid wanted to help? And how does one tell Dylan that yoghurt is sticky and needs wet wipes?

They got there somehow. The kid flexing his fingers and then sticking them back together and Dylan wiping till they no longer stuck... as much? And the baby in the meantime fell asleep. Like really, really asleep. So I was trying to gently burp a sleeping baby and getting nowhere.

"Dylan..."

The kid was elbow deep in yoghurt again, only this time he'd decided his hair needed re-arranging into a new style? He has tight curls see, ringlets... And my brother and his wife are trying to preserve this gorgeousness by not cutting his hair - fearing the ringlets will be lost? So the result was yoghurt 'product' and so much of it the curls were crusted and extended stiffly in every direction?

"Dylan!!!!"

"Not cleaning him again. Wait till he's finished!"

"Is there anything left in the bowl?"

He wandered over. I wandered over too because he looked undecided. Standing up, baby gave an almighty burp... and some overly loud rumbling vibrating at the other end?

"I have to change baby's nappy again. Deal with the kid; he's had enough, just clean him up."

Out came the roll of paper towels again. Then the..."I'll help you clean me up game" again? We were two hours in on what should have been a simple one hour 'mind'? Not faring well at all. Nope.

I changed the nappy - Dylan had to go upstairs and 'find one' which apparently was no easy task, so his eyes said? Very little conversation between us - not a good sign with number one son.

We then sat through Tom and Jerry... Now I happen to like Tom and Jerry... that show was part of my own childhood see? So I laughed at the antics. Dylan and the kid were not amused. A compromise was reached, and we all sat watching Seinfeld reruns...

Three hours in, baby still asleep in my arms - no the thought did not occur to me to place him in the crib in the adjacent dining room - I was in pain hell, my back protesting both at the weight and the lack of support?

"Mum, the kid smells funny. As in gross funny."

"Have to change his nappy. Nappy change or baby?"

He chose baby. Didn't even hesitate. I placed sleeping baby in his arms and he sat stiffly upright, staring at the TV as though by not moving or looking down, his mind could forget what he was holding? No, the sight of my son cradling a baby did not produce delightful sojourns into a future of me witnessing him holding his own child... In fact - let's just say that future - I watched it slipping away; so far away I could not see it at all in the end?

"Hey, think of this as preparation, right?" A desperate attempt on my part to hold on to that briefest of possibilities?

"Not happening."

"Come on, you love kids! Look how much the kid loves you too!"

The kid was engaged in the "I'll crawl all over you till all my yoghurt stained clothes are clean again" game. At that moment, his legs were around Dylan's head; from the side; and his arms... well they were messing with Dylan's beanie. No one messes with Dylan's beanie.

He has begun a trend at Uni. People are copying him and he is seeing black beanies everywhere and he's not happy about that? It was his trademark? Now the kid was adding further insult by turning the beanie into a receptacle for his wooden blocks? Then plonking it back on Dylan's head and pulling on it so the blocks tumbled down? He thought it a hoot, giggling hysterically. I don't know what Dylan thought. His face was frozen. I did get one photo with a smile?

Somehow we survived the fourth hour. In fact, we were so into survival mode we missed the text from my sister-in-law telling us to heat the kid's lunch in the microwave and feed him, so she could put him down for a nap as soon as she returned?

When she did return, midway into our fifth hour, the kid was on the floor, clearly tired, I was in some distant pain place never before visited with numb arms to boot, and Dylan... oh... my boy was just staring at the TV?

"Mum! Mum!" The kid came to life and rushed to the door, hearing the key.

His mother walked in smiling. "Sorry it took a little longer, you guys were fine though, I can see?"

"All good," I said, offering what had to be a smile?

"Why didn't you pop him in his crib?"

I popped him in his crib. I didn't answer. Displaying my stupidity... not something I wanted to endure on top of everything else?

We left soon after. Once in the car, my numb arms struggling with the steering wheel, I heard:

"Turn right, here."

"That's not the way home Dylan!" I needed home and painkillers and an hour of lying curled up on my side, whimpering?

"There's a McDonald's around the corner. Do it."

"Seriously? Macca's for lunch?" Not exactly lunch, since it was almost 3.00pm?

I went through the drive-through and ordered a large triple cheeseburger no pickles, large fries and a bottle of water - what? Dylan was breaking his age-old order to now include onions?

"Why?" I asked as I drove out, and he chomped like a maniac, stuffing his mouth till he resembled a chipmunk storing nuts.

"Leave me alone. I am eating my feelings."

Yep. I had driven him to that.

"Not coming with you EVER again."

"Got it."

"Don't expect grandkids."

"Got it."

"You will pay for this."

I didn't say got it again. Because see, despite the misadventure, I saw a different side to my kid. I saw my kid as an adult. And part of me celebrated despite his protests... And a big part of me - the biggest part - longed for just an hour of holding him in my arms again, seeing his sweet face smiling up at me?

Back at home, Marcus emerged - having been left in charge of looking after the grandparents. Apparently he'd had to do some cleaning of the kitchen cupboards and some other stuff I discovered later? One look at the both of us and smelling Macca's on Dylan, he dared ask:

"What's for dinner mum?"

"Air."