Julie Jay: Baby-and-parent comedy gigs are a riot 

‘Baby Inn Jokes’ is now a regular event, held in the Patriots Inn in Kilmainham, Dublin, and organised by our fellow comedian Colm O’Regan, who is determined to bring comedy to babies, a demographic inexplicably untapped up until now. It was a nice full-circle moment as the last time the three of us were together, Colm joined us in the same pub when Fred and I were on a date. He didn’t cop that he had been third-wheeling until we shifted in front of him — a move that would have got us banned from most Irish establishments given that eye contact is seen as illicit in most public places. Thankfully, the proprietors of the Patriots cut us some slack for being 35-year-old teenagers in the initial throes of love.

This parent-and-baby gig was probably the only comedy gig in the world where white stuff on your top is most likely baby powder, where the hecklers are more likely to cry than shout, and where criticisms are minimal because most attendees can’t talk. In other words, my dream gig.

In front of the stage, we had a playmat, which facilitated a bit of crawling and rolling, but eventually, I had to ask Fred to stand up and tell some jokes because that’s what we were there to do. The baby changing table in the side room was also a lovely touch — it had four legs and didn’t involve chaining yourself to a wall in a toilet and questioning your life choices.

The gig was everything I expected: the Ella’s Kitchen baby food pouches were flowing, the teeth were teething, and the soothers were soothing as JJ got up close and personal with some potential Dublin pen-pals. On one occasion, he was hugged a little too vigorously by a local infant, eliciting profuse apologies from his mother, who I quickly reassured.

“No, no, this is a good thing,” I insisted. “He’s from west Kerry — he needs to learn how to stand up for himself on the mean streets of the South Circular Road.”

Sure enough, by the end of the gig, JJ was giving a couple of pre-emptive shoves here and there on the play mat, so I think it’s safe to say a future in inter-county football awaits.

It was lovely having the two boys at the show, and they were very well-behaved, all things considered. Of course, there were a few hairy moments — notably when JJ was chewing a cable, which would have been less than ideal if we had ended up in an emergency department, explaining how the injury had occurred.

Having a baby in a pub on a Friday morning might have flown in the early 1980s, but it just doesn’t fly in 2024 because babies no longer have ashtrays to play with.

The gig was all the more enjoyable because it was for parents, and the babies just happened to be there. While lactation groups and parenting groups are great, it can be nice to have an event where the jokes are about adult things — not in any way saucy, of course, given the clientele, but stuff that we all care about like new Lidls, diagnosing our husbands with things, and laughing in the face of our GP as he makes contraception suggestions. (Contraception? I’ve heard celibacy has a 100% success rate.)

I cannot tell you the relief in finally having a gig where we didn’t have to fret about childcare, as sadly, daytime shows are few and far between due to a large proportion of parents having to fund their children’s Cow & Gate lifestyle with things called ‘jobs’. Comedy’s loss is capitalism’s gain because though I spent less than an hour in their collective presence, I would go to war for each and every audience member who strapped on a baby sling and made it to our show, nappy bags and all.

I was particularly delighted to see so many mothers with small babies at our morning show because it is no mean feat to get out the door, stick to a plan, and manage to drink half a cup of coffee, all while keeping a child nurtured and safe and remembering to laugh in the right places.

I couldn’t help but feel so proud of the parents in the room, all there and dressed (in my case, both my pants and top were splattered with yoghurt stains, but given that they were freshly splattered that day, I feel this didn’t qualify as dirty just yet).

Not only did we make it that morning, but we stuck it out, spit-ups and all. It’s probably the only gig where I had numerous people wetting themselves, but as a comedian this is surely just a testament to how good my jokes were.

In fact, I will be recommending a knicker change for all attendees of my shows going forward — and if that isn’t a reflection of success, I don’t know what is.