Dear Santa, One Small Human Being Please.

It’s a time of year where reminiscing is in vogue – particularly thinking about gifts we’ve received in times gone by. I’ve been gifted some pretty gorgeous stuff in my 23 years. Tiffany bracelets, designer handbags, handwritten poems and letters (which, being the insatiable narcissist that I am, top my list of favourites). And let’s not forget that 12x7x5 inch tub of apple straws that got demolished in 24 hours and turned my toilet green for a week (no regrets). Most memorable, however, was the time we brought home a small human being.

First day together ever ever. He ate one of the flowers on my headband. My first sisterly trial.

When I was 9 years old we adopted my 1.9 year old brother. And it was THE BEST. Let’s be clear - no, I do not condone the chattelisation of children (although I’m pretty sure there were times I a) employed him as slave labour and b) threatened to sell him) and yes, I feel crass ranking a human being alongside expensive phones and bangin’ accessories. I do, however, consider him a gift and recently I’ve been considering why.

Something that’s particularly struck me this week is how having him in my life prepared me for motherhood. Our time together has taught me you can construct an elves’ wonderland out of ladies’ sanitary products, how to roll, wrap and replace a nappy during the ad break for My Parents are Aliens (a world without live pause capability?! How appallingly primitive) with 2 mins left to fix myself a Ribena cocktail and - crucially - how to eat something crazy-delicious without anyone else in the room cottoning on. I’ve mastered the art of not-chundering when a firm stool is upcycled as DIY playdough and of  keeping your cool when your toddler is breakdancing on a supermarket floor because no they can’t have a raw pork sausage to chew on. 

It's fine to use your sibling as a life-size
doll, right?

Most valuably, he has taught me how to make a game out of nothing, that properly paying attention during ‘shows’ put on by a 5 year old leaves you surprised and delighted beyond all expectation and that you should absolutely never ever underestimate the wisdom of the under-10’s. I will never forget being 15 years old and, on a whim, telling him my teenlyf drama. 8 years old, he sat perfectly quietly, patiently waited til I’d finished and then counselled me on how to handle the situation.  I kid you not, his offerings were profound.

Preach it! Further dress-up box atrocities.

So yeah. He is precious to me. And here’s a poem for y’all to read that I done wrote some years ago about the first time we met.

*Background info* It was standard practice at the adoption agency we used for children to be sent a video or scrapbook with photos of their adoptive family weeks before they met for the first time. The child has chance to learn their names, learn their faces, learn their voices  - avoiding a scenario in which they are confronted by total strangers who scoop them up and whisk them off to some alien environment. When we went to pick up my brother, the social worker opened the door to the front room of his foster home and we saw him, in the flesh, for the first time. The look of joy and recognition on his face was unreal. My mum rounded the corner and he called out “mummy!” and ran into her open arms. Those were some serious feels.

Anyway, first stanza = my experience of that event. Second stanza = how I imagine that moment from his perspective.*

Throwing shade. I taught him that.

Meeting

A door opened

and

I felt her hand, cool across my back

She ushered me in.

Arms spread eagle,

from across the room,

you call 'mummy!'.

I observed:

Amber eyes drawn wide in recognition,

pot belly propped on spindled limbs,

mouth stained with juice

flowering purple like a bruise.

Strange how swiftly the heart adapts.

You moved closer

to me,

smiling as if already belonging.

Funny how you were the one

claiming my mother for your own

and yet I felt like the thief.

And yet, I felt like the thief -

claiming your mother for my own.

Funny how you were the one

smiling as if already belonging

to me.

You moved closer.

Strange how swiftly the heart adapts

flowering purple like a bruise.

Mouth stained with juice,

pot belly propped on spindled limbs,

amber eyes drawn wide in recognition,

I observed

you call Mummy

from across the room.

Arms spread eagle,

she ushered me in.

I felt her hand, cool across my back

and

a door opened.

Buddies til the end.