I was holding my first baby. She was a sweet little kitten. I don’t know why but her tiny hands outstretching always seemed so catlike. Beautiful from day one. Not too pink like most newborns and tiny facial features other than her two big brown eyes. I had much advice given on her every care. But, of course, she being the first, I went by the book. The book, being Everything You Should Know About Babies. The unsolicited advice? Swaddle. Definitely swaddle. Breastfeed. Give her rosewater and sugar and chamomile tea from a spoon. It’s good for her. Dress her warmer. Don’t let her see herself in a mirror until she’s older; she’ll go crazy. Don’t use nail clippers, bite her nails (it works). Don’t let her cry. Ever. Feed her cereal in a bottle, she’ll sleep all night.
She was a sweet fun baby. Lucky her, she had all our attention. All of everyone’s attention. The whole neighborhood could see her coming. First in her baby carrier; we went everywhere together. Who is this lady with her baby dangling in front of her? Then in her stroller eating hot fries in the cold rain. (I didn’t listen much to advice.) Then walking to the dokana (teeny weeny neighborhood supermarket) saying hi to everyone.
Is it any wonder she longs to be an only child again?