I love babies. I really love looking after them. When I was 16 I prayed every day that God would leave a baby at my doorstep. When Abang came into our life and dad asked if I would be able to take care of him because Mummy was not really well, I said yes.
From the start he was my baby, I fed him, changed his diapers, he slept next to me, and with the rest of the family’s help I raised him. One of the big reasons I couldn’t take my teaching posting in Sarawak was because the thought of leaving Abang broke my heart big time. He was kind of put off with me for going as well, Dad loves telling the story how on the way of picking me up from the airport after I decided not to go for my posting after all, how boy was looking at the plane and saying “padan muka, pergi lagi tinggal Abang, sekarang nangis nak balik” (I told you so, shouldn’t have left me, now crying to be home).
Dad calls me as Boy’s mother, my friends call me that as well, Boy insists I am his sister and Mummy is his mother, but he still sheepishly borrow my arm to sleep on when he is ill. So I can say I do have that experience of raising a child no matter what I am called. But it still does not stop that longing of wanting a little girl or boy of my own. Nowadays whenever I see babies I actually cry and feel that longing and need for one.
In two days I turn 40 signalling the last leg of my biological clock. I use to tell my sister if by 40 I am still unmarried and have no children, I am going to adopt, but being where I am at this moment I am not sure if it is still an option.