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.