After an eleven-day long wait, my nephew, to be named Sebastian, (after Sebastian Coe, the British athlete) came home last night, sleeping drowily in his mother’s arm, oblivious of the ooh’s and aah’s centered at him by his grandma and aunt. The hospital had wanted to keep him for one more day, dispite promising the parents that he could be discharged the day before. My brother Min protested and took Seb home.
He had missed his 5’oclock feeding and his mother was leaking, but no commotion could have woken him up. We left him to sleep in the bouncer and went about our dinner. I finished my dinner and he continued to sleep, stirring slightly only when his mother was just about to eat. Upon hearing the mew (that’s what his cry sounded to me), the anxious father quickly bundled up the kid and rushed upstairs for mummy to breastfeed, calling out to his wife along the way, turn on the aircon, the baby is hot.
When I told my sister that over the telephone, she burst out laughing, "You must have been biting your tongue from commenting anything, right?"
You see, not so long ago when my kids were staying at my mother’s house, my brother had confisticated the aircon remote and forbade them from using the aircon, as he wanted to save on the electrical bill which he was paying for.
Perhaps when the opportunity arises in future, I won’t bite my tongue, and shall remind him about how he had once commented that I am doing too much for my kids and spoiling them (rotten).
I can’t wait.