On being a big brother….

          My son has been nagging me to give him a little brother or sister. He wanted to be a big brother instead of being only a little brother. He has been very sensitive to our comments that he is growing up or has grown taller. He would quickly compare himself to his sister and discover, to his disappointment, that sister has grown taller too.

          For several weeks, he laments on the fact that I gave birth to his sister first and   to him 17 months later. He was and I think, still is disappointed after I told him that as he grow up, his sister is growing too. He will never be able to catch up, age wise. So now he is trying his best to grow up and be the ‘big brother’ to his elder sister.

          He would diligently finish everything we put in his plate, believing what my mother in law always said - he will grow up tall and strong if he finish his every meal. His competitive nature shone through as he has to compare how much sister is eating, or is not eating. Who eats more and who finishes earlier. He even notices how sister always have to be fed, while we insists on him feeding himself. I know he has questions about how things work in our household. His quiet gaze on the elder sister, being fed by my mother in law, while I seriously told him off for wanting someone to feed him too, tells me he is trying to understand how his big sister is different from him.

          He is a very observant boy. He notices the things that sister cannot do. Of things we are still trying to teach her to do. To prove himself, he eagerly learn and absorb everything, and proudly shows everyone that he can do the things that sister is still struggling to learn. When we insist on the sister to speak up, he would eagerly and loudly shouted his version of answers - craving for some attention.

          Yet, I am very grateful for this understanding and loving boy. A mature boy for his age, he rejoices with us, when sister mastered some skills. Yet, it breaks my heart when he asked in his matter-of-fact voice : “Mommy, you must teach sister to play with me.” “Mommy, you must teach sister to talk to me too.” “Mommy, why is it that God hasn’t helped sister to learn all the things she is supposed to know? We prayed for God to help her.”

          It all boils down to one thing. He is lonely. He longs for a companion to have conversations with, he longs for a playmate to share in his games and pretend plays, he needs to have someone with capabilities he can either look up to or for him to apply his natural brotherly mentoring skills.

          And he knows exactly what he needs. A little brother or sister.

          As a four-year-old, it astounds me to see how much he knows of human reproduction cycle. He never goes to his father and asked for a little brother. Instead, he nags me almost every night, even plotting that he would be a big brother by the time he is 5 years old…. When I asked him to go and talk to daddy about it. His simple reply was - It was not daddy who gives birth. Ahhh….. The innocence….

"I want daddy..."(from her perspective)

          I lay on my personal swing, swinging away as I watched or rather listened lazily to mummy ushering little brother upstairs to bed. Little brother has been bugging mummy to go to sleep. She finally closed the thick, new book she is reading and gave in to his request. I think mummy is starting to see the beauty of having a familiar thing with her all the time. Just like me. She seemed to have the thick book with her all the time in the past few days.

          I half watched and listened as mummy instructed little brother to help her to get the pillows on the couch. She is to take them upstairs again, after bringing them down for naps this afternoon.

          I watched and listened lazily as mummy ends her conversations with daddy, and little brother said good night. Mmmm.... I think they have forgotten to talk to me. I continued to swing and relaxed as the to and fro motion comforts me. It doesn't matter. I am not sleepy yet. I have no intention to go upstairs with them. But I did start paying attention as mummy reminded daddy that I have yet to change into my pajamas.

          I continued swinging. Daddy continued with his work on the computer. Everything is still. As I felt the need to taste some metal, I got up and searched for the Hello Kitty key chain. Grandpa bought a whole bunch of four Hello kitties key chains for my 6th birthday. He knew I love these small things hanging off metal rings. But somehow I was left with only one of them. I have no idea where the rest of the Hello Kitties were. I remembered asking daddy to dismantle the ring from one of the Hello Kitty and mummy promptly took the ring from me and threw them away when she saw me putting it in my mouth. And there's another two which I barely remember since I wasn't really interested in the specific colour of the dresses they wore.

          When I finally found the Hello Kitty with the metal ring still intact, it was a relief to feel it in my mouth. Well, at least until daddy turned his head and saw me. With stern voice, he asked me to take it out. Then followed by a lecture on how dirty it is to put inedible things in my mouth. When he turned his attention towards his computer, I can't resist putting the metal parts into my mouth again. It just feels so nice, the cold metallic taste in my mouth. I wonder why they don't have food that taste this good. But I have to be alert not to let daddy see me with the ring in my mouth.

          After awhile, daddy stopped his work to get me changed. I can manage the pants, but he has to help me with my shirt. It is still a challenge for me to take off my shirt and I still need someone to put the shirt I am supposed to wear, with the neckline through my head so that I can pull it onto my shoulders and try to insert my hands through the small holes on both sides. When that is done, I know I have to go potty. Mummy has always made it a point to ask me to go potty every night before I am allowed to go upstairs. Change pajamas - go potty - bed. This is what I do every night without fail. Well, at least in that order.... regardless how often I repeat it in one night.

          The climb upstairs was easy. I took my own sweet time trudging upstairs, as the slowly increased height enable me to have better view of whatever mummy and daddy puts on top of that TV console, or in the containers on the higher part of the book shelves. I will try to get glimpses of things that might interest me. Tomorrow or when the time is right, I might just manage to get them with some help of the stools mummy have around the house.

          In the bedroom, mummy is still awake. She hugged me and sounded happy when I reach out and played with her pony tail. A few more hugs, I pushed her away. Too much hugging makes me feel uncomfortable. I turned away from her. I can hear her mumbling something about going to the toilet, but she did not appear again for what seemed like a long time.

          I decided to go and check her out. Also partly because I needed to go potty again. It is a good thing mummy placed potties at strategic places. It sounds like mummy is downstairs with daddy. They are both paying attention to the computer, discussing something I don't quite understand. At least, they are not discussing about me. I was actually feeling tired and wanted to go to bed. But I wanted, needed mummy and daddy. So I lay about on the couch, then on the floor, doing nothing and waited. Waiting is a tiring thing to do. I finally broke out and cried. That got my parents' attention. I think crying is my best tool in communication. Mummy rushed to my side and tried to comfort me. By this time, my eyes were red and my face smeared with tear drops. I grabbed hold of mummy's neck and climbed onto her, insisting that she bring me upstairs. She complied. She talked all the way upstairs and I decided it is time to stop crying. So I laughed.

          In bed, it still does not feel right. On previous nights, daddy come up early and allowed me to lay beside him and play with his hair. He would gently pat me to sleep too. Mummy's patting doesn't feel right. Plus her hair is now in a mess. There is no more pony tail for me to play with. So I cried. It is very effective to get what I want if I cry long enough. It is funny how mummy starts talking in foreign language. I think it is English. I heard them somewhere. It could be the prayers she insisted on saying almost every night. Our Father who art in Heaven...... her voice trailed and I stopped crying for awhile as I tried to gauge what is she doing. Then she stopped. Hmmmm.....

         The silence still doesn't feel right. Daddy is not here. I cried again. Mummy starts singing. I think I am familiar with this song. Mummy and daddy used to sing this when I was very little. A song daddy wrote for me. But the words doesn't register. I just want to have daddy so that I can play with his hair. A few more rounds of crying, and mummy changing positions, trying to hug and baby me to sleep... I finally decided I better go down to wait for daddy. Besides, I can sense that mummy is beginning to lose her composure. It would not be nice if she starts screaming at me, when all I want is to play with daddy's hair.

          I am still taking my own sweet time on top of the staircase when daddy announced from below that he is done with his work and is coming to bed. He switched off the lights and I followed him into the bedroom. Daddy sleeps on the mattress on the floor. The soft mattress beside him is just nice for me to relax and play with his hair.... and it is finally time to sleep.... Ooops.... I think I heard mummy grumbling something about the time. It is already 1.30 in the morning.... whatever.