Surrogacy

Nine years ago today, I woke up at 5am to find my whole family awake.
I spent the rest of the morning watching Playhouse Disney.
They didn't tell me.

I remember that month so well.
I spent every moment next to my mum.
Picking out blankets.
Sewing a new cover for the Moses Basket we used for our little sister.
Sorting out the spaces for the clothes.
I bought him a blanket the night before he was born...
I fell in love, even before I met him.

Although, five months before, I wouldn't have ever imagined it.
One early Summer morning, I spotted an ultrasound scan on my father's desk.
I didn't think much of it, until I noticed the date.
"August '99"
The rage that rose up, burnt my insides.
I remember shaking and having to sit down.
How could they do this to me? To us?
Once, I exhaled and sorted myself out, I ran upstairs and woke up Ma Soeur Ainee... I had to check with her.
To prove it's real.
That it was happening.
They didn't tell me.

...and here we are, nine years later.
With a spack of a brother who I can't bear to be without for more than a few hours.
I've spent the past nine years devoted to Little One.
When he was still scaly and red from the womb, it wasn't mother who'd wake up when he cried.
It was me.
At some point between that shocking August morning and the rainy Winter day, I had decided to take full responsibility of my new sibling.
I had just been awarded a full scholarship at my school, but it didn't mean anythign anymore... I just wanted to be with Little One.

When my younger sister was a baby, I used to help mother look after her.
I'd make the milk, do the nappy if it was only wet, feed her etc.
With Little One, I took it up a notch.
I bathed him, clothed him, fed him, played with him, changed his hideously stinky nappies, clipped his nails, used Sudocream when I thought necessary.
I didn't allow mother to do anything.
I was selfish. It wasn't anything to do with letting mother rest.
I just wanted Little One.

The first time he cut his head.
I bundled him into the back seat of the car, even before mother had time to put on her shoes.
I spoke to the receptionist, the nurses and then the doctor.
Mis Padres thought I was trying to be helpful.
No. It was Little One who was hurt.
My Little One.

A few weeks ago, the family upset him a lot.
...and nothing I said could console him.
Later that night, as we were lying on the floor doing our breathing exercise, he said to me,
"You know you're my best friend, right? If I ever say you're not, I'm lying..."
Nothing 'Modo said to me that night could keep me from weeping.

Last year, when he broke his arm playing football.
I fell down the stairs in my hurry to see what had happened.
...I was petrified.
It reminded me of the time I was in school when he was taken to the doctors because of his asthma.
He stopped breathing, and had to be blued in to hospital where he spent three nights.
He came home and wouldn't look at me.
I spent the night in hospital with him, this time.
...and we both woke up early, and spent all morning chatting.

We can chat for hours on end.
...and he'll get me, and I get him.
We can talk about all sorts.
For a 9 year old, he's pretty mature.
Then again, for a 20 year old, I'm fuck immature.

I still find it strange that his parents don't know what his favourite colour is, or what he absolutely hates eating...
They buy him ill fitting clothes.
... and speak to him like he's still a toddler.

They don't see the dancer, the artist, the singer, the comedian, the advisor, the cook, the scientist, the friendly boy that makes up Little One.

I always take Little One out wherever I go.
...and we're always called Mother and Child.
Even when we're with the family, no one accepts that his mother and father are standing next to us.
But, it's easy to see why.
He comes to me when he's got a question, when he learns something new, when he hurts himself, when he can't find something.
The only time he ever goes to mum if he ruins something.
He knows I'll go ape shit...

It's strange.
Nine years ago, I myself was a child.
Now, here I am, discussing whether the XFactor was a fix with Little One whilst he's snuggled up in the blanket I got him all those years ago.

I really hope he has a really happy birthday, and that his dreams and wishes all come true...
This year has been really tough on such a gentle soul, I really hope that he never has to deal with so much shit in such little time in future years.

Bah Humbug!

I really am the Ugly Duckling.
With a mother from the Grinch lineage, and a father born into the Scrooge family, I really should follow suit and hate this season.
My siblings do.

But, it's the one time of the year I love.
Ever since I started school...

But it's always been a huge build up ending with a massive disappointment which takes me a few days to get over.

This year, there wasn't much of a build up, but I was still disappointed.
See, it's LittleOne's birthday around the same time.
...and he wanted this to be his last birthday party, 'cause he feels too old. Fair enough.
It's also our GodSon's birthday the same day.
I've been busy right up until Christmas Eve with work.
...and I told my siblings and mother to do a few simple things.
Order a personalise cake. Take LittleOne to computer game shop. Get a turkey. Buy GodSon a MakaPaka toy or a plate/bowl/spoon/cup set (to encourage him to eat solids).
Four things.
I came home on Christmas Eve and they didn't do one thing.
I got in a strop so they farted to an expensive patisserie (ON CHRISTMAS EVE) and ordered a ghastly cake that no one would ever eat.
I went straight to bed.
Christmas Day was so depressing.
The sisters were asleep.
Mum was annoyed that we didn't wash up first thing in the morning.
Dad's watching his religious TV.
Little One on his gameboy.
A normal day.
No tinsel. No presents. No food.

We have a family tradition.
Every Christmas Day, we go for a drive in the night.
To see everyone's decorations in our city.
We didn't do that this year.

The magic's all gone.

It just shows what happens when I don't have any money, and I don't do anything myself.

...7 People I've lost this year...

to death.

My cousin, my uncle from Germany, Gurps, Nasiha, my eldest Khalu, the Littlest One and now Indy...

Cancer, a car accident, flames, suffocation, old age/kidney failure, appendicitis, meningitis....
They've all snatched someone away.
Fathers, sons, brothers, sisters, daughters... Friends.

I still can't help but be selfish, and think is it me that God's punishing?
...because I've decided that religion isn't for me?

The Eye of the Storm.

Calm.
Still.
Silence.
It's all quite unnerving.

The tears have stopped flowing.
The nights haven't been so restless.
...and the eczema seems to have been kept at bay.

I guess rearranging my room has helped.
Everytime I've felt absolutely hopeless, I've changed my room around.
Pushing heavy furniture around really does take the stress out.
Yoga on Friday nights is another great stress buster.

I guess my new phone helps as well.
(The cool Nokia 5000 that I managed to get for £1.99!)
I've had the ear phones plugged in for the past four days, and just having proper music to tune out to has been more than a relief.
(Yes, I still haven't got an iPod... Let's see if I can keep it up for another couple of years.)

But I'm not stupid to think that it's all over now.
...There's more to come.
The storm isn't over yet.

That doesn't mean I don't welcome the break from the upsetNess that had overtaken my life.
It's actually helped.
I had my first driving lesson in over a year and a half... and I've written my personal statement for UCAS... I just need to ask Salman Khan if he could be my referee.
I've decided to drop my job at the Optician's as much as I love it.
I have become capitalised.
I went for money, instead of satisfaction.
I'm going to be at the local Bengali Community Centre full time, doing shit all.
It probably won't help with my stress problem, but hey, money is money.
...and when you've got an arse like Kumar threatening you for money, it's an amazing offer.

The ad I put on GumTree has been far less than fruitful...
The only realistic person I've managed to find to take salsa is a girl... Lol.
But, on the plus side, I've found lots of weird ePeople to have random conversations with.
Oh.
I've found some very Yummy ePeople, indeed.
They correct my English!
One can converse with me in French!
The other one is just a psycho!
I'm in eLove.

...and I've become an eWhore.
I'm so quick to give out pictures.

But, no, they're no way near Quasimodo's eCharm.
He was meant to fuck me this weekend just gone.
Ok. He doesn't/didn't know that.
I just wanted it to happen.
...and it didn't.

But, I spoke to him on Friday.
...and he just made me melt.
When he speaks, it's like his words trickle down me like the steaming hot stream of water that I inch into every morning for my shower.
They make me shivver, but feel so warm at the same time.

...but the cosy duvet will be snatched away from me.
I can feel it.
Ma Soeur Ainee's shenanigans have only just been brought to my parent's attention.
They've only seen the tip of the iceberg.
There's more to piss them off.
...and the anger they'll feel will be then taken out on me.

...I must be prepared.