Introducing Basement Bobby

There is a man living in our basement. A 350 lb man in his early 40's sleeps during the day and only comes out at night to fill up his cup with ice and sometimes rummages through food. I find my ice cream consumed, cookies diminished in number, and banana bread picked over. He has a blender in his bathroom and an espresso machine in his room. His outfit of choice is a dashiki and a pair of boxers. He usually tucks his shirt into his boxers. His hobbies consist of bike riding, sewing, stalking women on jdate even though he has no jewish lineage, playing World of Warcraft, and creating computer applications. He has the maturity, sense of humor, common sense, and logic of a 13-year-old. An exceedingly annoying 13-year-old.

This man is my brother. Almost 20 years older than me, he's been more of a parent in my life than a sibling. I share a connection with my brother that I do not share with anyone else. My brother (since he's pretty socially awkward once he lets his guard down) will start a thought mid sentence, and I will usually know what he's talking about. I don't know if this is a good thing.

For all his idiosyncrasies, my brother is one of my biggest helpers with my son. Something about babies turns this man into a giant teddy bear. He can sooth Jackson even when I can't (usually. I was gone for two hours today and apparently Jackson did nothing but cry. I'm not going to lie, it was kind of an ego boost.) He spends time working with Jackson helping stimulate his mental and physical development, and constantly tends to his needs. I'll never forget the night my husband woke me up and said, "Jackson's crying, but it's not on the baby monitor." I flew into the other room panicking that my little man had been crying for God only knows how long and I had just been snoozing away. I opened the door to see my brother swaying with a whimpering baby, saying, "It's okay little buddy! Your Uncle's here."

So the crazy, pants-less, large man that haunts my house, eats my food, and is usually tap dancing on my last nerve proved to be the most precious asset in my life, especially my life as a mother.