The onesies with monkeys. The tiny wash cloths. The toys with pieces so large, a starving camel couldn’t swallow them. The miniature socks meant for mice feet. It was my sister-in-law’s baby shower at work. I was one of the only men. Since we work in the same place and I’m family, I was contractually obligated to attend. She’s due in about a month. It’s all becoming real. Monkey onesies will do that. My brother is taking it well. I saw him last weekend after he returned from a baby-shopping trip to Pottery Barn Kids. He did great. He only threw up once! At the shower, happy people kept turning to me and saying, “You’re going to be an uncle! Aren’t you excited? Are you ready?” “Excited? Sure,” I answered. “But ‘ready?’ I don’t need to be ready! This is my brother’s gig. I’m here to point and laugh when he shows up in a BabyBjorn.” But it got me wondering: What does it mean to be an uncle? You know, what it entails and all. Whether I’m “ready.” Whether I need to be. Whether there are certain responsibilities I have to take on.