I was never a fan of kids. In fact, I hate them, but not always. It might be weird to say those things the very fact that I was a kid a few years ago. I am weird.
My sister Marianne had a daughter—Zowie—who is almost a year old now. Since she had a baby before finishing college, she plans to have a diploma through a 2-year vocational course every Saturdays and Sundays. I think it’s one of preparing herself in raising up her kid since she is depending their food to my Aunt Tessie.
It was a good idea though but the day she decided to go the school to have her name listed on the program, I was asked to babysit Zowie for approximately 6 hours. I was hesitant to accept it. I was not sure if my father would allow such set-up. Then I suggested coming over to their house to take care of Zowie away from my father instead. What happened next was very much unexpected.
At exactly 8am one sunny morning, my sister arrived knocking on my door and trying to push her baby to me. I was surprise to see her. I thought I’ll be seeing them at 1 in the afternoon. So with sleepy eyes, I started watching my little niece.
The first hours were heaven. I like her and I always hug her like my little stuffed toys. She wanted to play my mobile phone and would stare at it for a few seconds before wriggling it. She was a total angel at that time. But as time goes on, she was demanding more and more from me. That’s the time when I got really pissed.
After an hour, she got tired and started crying and would say “mama” over and over again. At first she would respond if I came hurrying to carry her but never got contented about it. She would ask (through constant whining) a quick tour in our house. It was very tiring. Carrying that kid for over 30 minutes without a break could make your arms hurt after the succeeding minutes. A split second of rest through sitting would trigger buckets of tears on her part. I can’t even stand still to rest as well for this will also make her cry! I also tried everything to calm her down but I guess all she knew then was to cry.
I successfully made her sleep but was awaken by my father’s loud voice afterwards—which is the most annoying part. Whenever he’s in the same room with Zowie, the poor kid would start crying as if she felt something was not right or monstrous near her. I wonder why.
At past 2 in the afternoon, my sister arrived with foods. Zowie calmed down the instant she saw her mother, such a mother-and-child instinct. And although I get to think of throwing her somewhere, Zowie will always be my first baby. Because after everything I experienced through babysitting her, I will always love her.