Having a baby ruins your life was the parental mantra growing up; perhaps my mother’s attempt to guard the bushes of her four daughters and to keep the four sons sticks and berries in their own yard. A statement that is neither true and as it turns out, not that effective either–especially when she left for a long trip down under–which was timed neatly before the hired Electrician completed his installation of rewiring her daughter’s heart. The second youngest sibling decided to chance it and solve these electrical surges, but unknowingly to her, mother-nature had planned to win the bet. A young face with a swollen belly and ankle socks was cause for stares, gossip and thankfully not a shot-gun wedding as the dear older generation adamantly advised. This young apprentice electrician who flaunted his sticks and berries, we suspected he had done so many times before. Although, no-one could even hint to my sibling that things seemed just not-so-right; her romantic coupling planets were aligning, as her eyes were continually blinding.

After several unfashionable moos-moos later, the long wait became longer. Then all of a sudden, came this little character sporting a slightly deformed head, as forceps were needed to break up the protest to remain in the embryonic world. A little squirt of a girl. Over six pounds heavy. Bald. Toothless. Unconditional love at first sight. I stared for hours looking down into her crib, capturing exuberance over a glimpse of a yawn, two stretches, three blinks and an occasional pupil peeping out as if to ask where she was, or more likely, who is this gawking stalker? How time became unfair and sped-up instead of pausing, so I could stay to watch another eye movement, a rollover attempt, a kick and a face lighting up like a Christmas tree triggered by my slight tickling interaction: life’s joy incarnate.