poor baby

The saddest thing in the world is a sick baby :(

Wisdom & Responsibility Beyond My Years

I was on the phone with my cousin, mother of a seven-month old baby, and I found myself advising her to add salt and pepper to her son’s baby food to make it more palatable. Half of our conversation consists of her talking about her baby and me responding with similar information about my baby brother. I know, it’s not particularly thrilling, but there’s always some tidbit that I have to offer whether it’s about baby eating, crawling, walking, talking, potty training, and a lot of random things. These are things I’ve learned in the past seven years, since the first of the second set of us kids was born.

My mom’s friends always say, “You’re so lucky. When you have your own children, you’ll have so much experience.” My response: smile and nod. Is there any other response? Sometimes I wonder if by the time I am a mother, I will be over the whole experience before it begins. I doubt it.

My maternal grandmother was also the oldest of seven children and she always tells me how she was truly like a mother to her younger siblings, particularly her youngest brother. She fed him, bathed him, did everything for him, and when he woke up in the middle of the night crying, he would call for her. It got the point where he was calling her “mama”. This story always gets me thinking. First, kudos to my grandma for being such a big help to her mom and for taking responsibility of her baby brother. Then, of course, there’s the guilt: am I supposed to be more like that?? Sure, I help my mom. I change diapers, drive them to their activities, dress them for bed, and babysit. And at night, when somebody needs to use the bathroom, wakes up from a nightmare, or forgets to wake up to use the bathroom (sigh), I take care of business. As much as I help however, I have not assumed full responsibility of them. They’re not my kids and when my sister accidentally addresses me as “mama,” it makes me uncomfortable. My mom loves her children and she enjoys being a mom (most of the time). Honestly, I don’t think my mom would want me to become mother to her kids like my grandma was for her brother. This is my consolation and this is what eases part of my guilt when I see her busy with the little ones while I’m busy with schoolwork, an activity, or just lazing about. This doesn’t mean my mom would refuse my help so there’s always going to be some guilt.

she's my SISTER!!

My friends and I were out together having breakfast – we were celebrating our graduation from high school (this was four years ago). I had brought my sister Sana with me because my mom was busy and needed me to babysit. Sana was three years old at the time. I can still picture the scene of me walking across the restaurant, hand in hand with Sana, who had syrup all over her face, fingers, and clothes. I smiled at the nice people having breakfast in the restaurant and I could see it in their eyes: Aaw, the little girl is so cute, but that poor mom – she’s too young! Lord! Once again, my response: smile and nod. What rattles me is that if I saw an average-looking, 17-year old American girl walking with a 3 year old, I would not automatically assume a parent-child relationship. Actually, I would probably assume that they are sisters. In my case, when people see me – a Muslim girl – my hijab (headscarf) often automatically triggers negative impressions of oppression and ignorance. For reasons I will ascribe to media focus and an unfortunate ignorance, people see me with my sister and envision an uneducated girl at the mercy of her male relatives, forced by her father to dress in a certain way as well as enter an oppressive marriage, in which her sole purpose is to birth children and assume the role of slave to her master. Bleh. All I can think right now is if Sana really were my daughter, I’d have been pregnant at 12!

How am I so sure that this is what occurs in the minds of too many people when they see me? Besides that it gives me mixed feelings of aggravation, frustration, and amusement, how do I react? More about that later.

"You're an oozer"

I feel old saying this, but really, where do kids today find the nerve to say some of the things they say? Today, my almost 4-year old sister, Bayan, called Salaam, 17, a loser. Well, actually she called her an “Oozer.” Speaking of which, when do you stop kids from saying things in that cute way of theirs by giving them the correct pronunciation. Even if I told her, “Honey, it’s pronounced loser,” do you think it would matter? Most assuredly, no. She would stare me down as if I had committed some great offense and likely stomp off – perhaps to tattle on me to our mom!!!

Of course, that is what happens when you live in a house with younger children – there is always someone to tattle on you…. That’s not to say that there isn’t tattling amongst us ‘older siblings’ – however minimal, but that’s a different story.

Now, the members of my family are not in the habit of calling each other “losers” or “oozers” for that matter. Outside of a friendly but competitive game of taboo or scrabble with my friends, I can’t even recall ever using the term in reference to someone. So where do you suppose Bayan, my innocent little angel of a sister, learned to label someone as an “oozer”? From the other 3 and 4-year olds in her PreK but of course! In all seriousness, parents, older siblings, and adults in general need to be cautious of the language they use in front of children. When somebody called another human being a ‘loser’ in front of my sister, she didn’t only pick up the phrase but the condescension and superciliousness that is inherent in the word/phrase. She doesn’t comprehend the meanings, yet they are implied in her words. Something needs to change because 3-year old little girls are not supposed to sound mean and condescending!

My Family

This is a new experience for me. I have never kept a diary or a journal, and I don’t have myspace, facebook, or twitter accounts. If I wish to share something with someone, I do so directly by phone, text, or email – if not in person. I find no reason or purpose in flaunting my life publicly. That sounds kind of harsh so I will admit that talking about myself does not come natural to me.

Here, I have chosen to discuss my favorite topic … my family.

I am the daughter and sister in a family of nine. I am my parents’ first child, which means of course that the feelings of being a guinea pig are not foreign to me. Being the eldest child also means that I automatically assume the role of being the eldest sibling as well. I realize that this is common sense, but I feel the need to distinguish between them because the two roles are quite different with only some overlaps. I have six siblings, my brother who is 19 and my four sisters who are 17, 7, 3, and 2. That makes five… oh yeah, I also have a baby brother who was born last November, which makes him 6 months now. As you can tell, there is a large (ten-year) difference between two of my sisters, splitting the seven of us into two generations. My brother likes to call us three oldest, “the originals.” Even though it has been more than seven years since it was just the three of us, when I think of how many we are, I still start from three and count up – first it was to 4, then 5, 6, and now 7.

My four youngest siblings have added so much to our home. When I picture life as it was before them, I see naked rooms filled with silence. I love being a part of my big family.