For six years I basked in my parents’ attention. Solely me. I was the axis of their happiness, existence and purpose. And then they decided that it was important that I have a “brother” so I wouldn’t be alone. At first, I threw tantrums. I already didn’t like this unborn thing. I was hoping mum hadn’t asked God for the baby yet. That’s another story. Well, this is how it goes anyway. I thought God made babies. Seriously. I thought only once a woman was married, she could go to the temple and kneel down before God and tell him she was ready to have a baby. God would then sculpt a child and slide it down the invisible tube that connected heaven to a woman’s belly. Now that I think of it, I was absurdly imaginative even as a child. Getting back to that unborn “thing”, the idea of a puppet brother, one whom I could dictate my terms on, began to grow on me and I suddenly couldn’t wait for God to slide the baby down.
Just when everyone had begun picking blue for the boy, science had to burst our bubble. Ultra sound results showed we should have picked pink instead. Great. Even the servants at home slouched and sighed. They were desperately looking forward to a boy child in the household. I am certain that they had decided to crown the unborn thing the “king” of their little troop and and submit to be lead to overthrow six years of my supremacy and establishment as the Royal Highness of the household, my parents’ attention and my Grandparents’ adoration. I couldn’t care to conceal the fact that I was bossy. It was far too evident to hide. This one is worth mentioning. I always harbored slightly destructive aspirations. In the 5th grade, my best friend and I went as far as to declare that we would both marry Osama bin-Laden. The terror and power that he commanded simply fascinated us. But we were moral enough to decide to eventually turn him in to the authorities. That way, we would have saved the world and enjoyed the luxuries of being Osama bin-Ladin’s wives. Simple and Genius. Anyway, back to the unborn thing. My grandparents were slightly disappointed. My father said he was indifferent but I could tell it pinched him. Looking back, it shouldn’t have been that way. The ideals of Nepalese society are just messed up. A girl and a boy child- ideally perfect. Two sons-you are sure to meet salvation. Two daughters- oh well, may be the third time around we’ll have a son. As for my mother, she said she couldn’t wait for me to hold my baby sister-and that’s when she told me that I would be responsible for her next in line after my parents. I was thrilled.
The Term Paper on Children Things We Throw Away
... bring another 'unwanted child' into the world." Actually, there is no such thing. Once a baby is born it ... When Does Life Begin? Just when does an unborn baby become a "real person"? Science tells us ... the aged, the handicapped, the mentally retarded? God defends the unborn, the innocent, and the one who cannot ... it twice ... once to your baby and then, if you decide, again to a hopeful family somewhere. ...
Suhana is now 13. However, she would have you tricked for 16. We’re poles apart. She believes she can bulldoze everyone to comply with her whims and wishes. She is certain that the world is hers to dictate. And since she plays “dictator” better, my hopes of a sibling to play puppet master to, obviously crashed to a million little pieces. And she is daddy’s little.Hence, no matter how much you want to kill that little thing, you can’t. Don’t get me wrong, I more than adore my baby sister and despite our differences and no matter how much we take each other for granted, fact is, we’re blood. And nothing feels better than blood on blood.