Dear Baby Rockstar,
You are officially a month old tomorrow. But your Grandmum asked if we could do the red eggs today. Something about it being easier for you to find a good husband if little girls have their One Month Thing a day early. You can tell from the sketchy way Mummy writes this that she has no idea what she’s talking about. Grandmum didn’t do the One Month Thing early for Mummy, because she hadn’t heard of this practice when Mummy was born. (For that matter she didn’t have a confinement nanny either – part of the reason she insisted Mummy have one because your grandmother harbors the not-so-secret wish that if Mummy fails to notice the gaping hole in her abdomen and slew of other physical discomforts that are part of pregnancy and childbirth, Mummy might give her four grandchildren after all.)
Mummy and Daddy have no special feelings whatsoever about red eggs or One Month Things – we basically ingested a dyed red hard-boiled egg each and called it a day. Mummy’s parents however have been bestowing you with gold coins and wafers and a little bank account and phoenix jade and……. crazy socks?
Grandmum says with your Elder Brother Rockstar they literally ate the eggs then hopped a taxi to the airport and flew home. Something else Mummy cannot remember anymore. If being born at a time when Mummy is more erm, mellow, and not checking her berry or rushing about in a couple more months makes you luckier than your brother, than she guesses that you are.
(Your brother on the other hand will happily trade that for getting to be born first. Mummy has asked. He doesn’t want to be the one taken care of – he wants to be the one who gets to take care of – a younger sibling. Mummy types this now, and posts the picture above for when you guys start fighting over every damn thing and driving her nuts.)
Among the list of things we cannot change – birth order, siblings, who our parents are, where we are born – into poor or rich families, into workaholic families, into broken families, into families imbued with so much love for each other. But we can change who we are, by our attitudes to what we are born with, or without. (And frankly to whether we put up with crap). Mummy is proud of your brother for how he has mostly viewed your arrival, even at his current fairly young age of 4.5, and hopes she will not soon have to eat her words. Well, Rockstar wasn’t very happy he had to wait to use the bathroom yesterday, but at least he got over it real quick. The iPod helps.
This was Mummy’s 1 Month Outfit almost 36 years ago (the picture doesn’t do it justice, you have to see the real thing) – as Mummy has said, Grandmum is nuts, she laughed and said she had had no time to do anything (this Mummy believes – Grandmum was a crazy dedicated teacher who went back to work after barely two months. In fact during Mummy’s 1 Month, Grandmum dressed her in that and drove to Klang High School where she was teaching back then and gave everyone in the staff room red eggs. She showed it to Mummy laughing, “You can throw it away if you want, but I kept it to show you.” So now Mummy’s thinking of keeping it to show you. There are also umpteen pictures of Mummy on the shoulders of various strapping young men with 70s hairstyles – Grandmums old students. Mummy once ended up in a dealing room in Singapore with one of them, even. That’s how small the world really is – and another reminder to be kind to everyone you can. Some would probably call it Karma.)
So anyway that’s why Mummy had some seriously hideous clothes – which Grandmum nonetheless lovingly saved for almost 36 years, waiting for when Mummy would finally birth a grandchild she could give these too. Sigh. At least she didn’t break them out before we knew you were a girl. Because then Mummy would’ve been super pissed.
While we looked through the big bundle of baby things, your brother looked through the Regular Goodie Bag That Includes Boh Liau Toys your grandparents entertain themselves filling up in-between visits. Your brother now has two tarantulas in resin, a bunch of weird bugs, several variations of Snakes and Ladders (Mummy recommends you start this too, it’s what your brother practices counting to 100 with – Mummy has girlfriends whose sons play this with their otherwise workaholic dads each evening), and goodness knows how many Interesting And Weird Facts books from National Geographic etc. And rubber things that crawl down glass, and crazy balls and racquets. Mummy dreads the day you are old enough to start putting things in your mouth. She repeatedly tells your brother, stow it or lose it.
But for now, my darling daughter, you are a day short of a month old. I love you in a way I thought only possible with your brother. And you two are so very different – your brother is “Rockstar” because he was an incredibly difficult to please baby who would not be distracted from getting his way. You are, for the most part, easier going. Though the nurses were still impressed with your scream and you have a temper, you don’t unleash it often. Most of the time you’re just working on gas.
And so, til Mummy has reason to christen you otherwise, you shall be Little Miss Rockstar, for the blog. Or Ms Rockstar for short. Not fussy or petulant, therefore not quite princess material. Not really Rock Chick material in the sense you lack the ‘tude, you don’t behave like one either. Mummy went online shopping for baby clothes and couldn’t even imagine dressing you in bright, girly shades.
If your current personality could be characterized in a shade, it would be this pink Mulberry scarf from net-a-porter.com. Not say, anything louder or punkier. And so, the same goes for your pseudonym.
We love you, Little Miss Rockstar. Mummy thinks you have your own guardian angel, you are so blessed and loved. Strange coincidence, the reader who suggested “Little Miss Rockstar” goes by the moniker “Cheeky Angel”.
Oh, and Mummy hopes to one day be able to find that old picture of herself in the dress above – wouldn’t that be cool if she could also take a picture of you in it?
So Happy Almost-1 Month Birthday, darling. Regardless what Grandmum says, Mummy thinks future little boyfriends are going to have a hard time getting past the Rockstar. And your father.
I love you, darling daughter… Even as you dream of ballerinas… Mummy would much rather that be martial arts, but if it’s what you want someday…
ps: If Rockstar had his way, you wouldn’t be Ms Rockstar on the blog. You’d be Fluffy. But he supposes he can live with his Second Choice.