The joy of caring for babies

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I have a clear memory of my 8-year-old self rocking a little cousin to sleep. I am guessing I was that age because first, the baby was probably a year old or less, and given our age gap, then I would be around 8.

Yes, I liked taking care of my younger sisters, too, but they always had nannies and often they would think I was just underfoot and would shoo me away. Unless of course they needed to go out for a bit and they would ask me to watch over the little ones.

So even as a child, babies didn't scare me much. If they cried, I'd pat them gently on the thighs or their legs or recite nursery rhymes. Needless to say I would play with them if they were in the mood. Yes, I knew to feed them, both with a bottle and spooning food into their tiny mouths.

As I grew older, that fondness for babies stuck. And since we used to live in a compound with a few cousins, I would be asked to babysit one or two of my younger cousins.

When I started working and there were colleagues with children they brought to work, I would naturally gravitate towards them, even if they would initially be shy with me. Eventually, after much persistence on my part, they would feel comfortable around me and soon enough we'd be playing or they would be dragging me around to go some place.

A-huh, those friends of mine love me because I could take the kids off their hands for a while so they can breathe, or work. And when there were excursions that included families, I would be hanging out with the little ones there as well.

So yes, I was comfortable around tiny humans and could navigate my way around them, tantrums included.

Alas, I was not blessed to have kids of my own. So all of the practice I got taking care of someone else's kids I only put to use when my nephews and niece started arriving.

Since they lived with us since birth, I have had the privilege of helping raise them. And by raising them, I mean from the time they were infants.

For the record, I knew how to properly lift newborns, bathe them, change their diapers (even with the poo!), make formula, burp them, put them to sleep, and calm them down when they're fussy (that's a lot of singing!).

It was never a scary proposition to handle these tiny people even when they looked so fragile. The trick was not to be afraid of handling them but to move with a lot of care.

So why was I doing all those stuff? Because frankly, it was my sister - their mother - who was a little anxious taking care of the babies. She's a by-the-book type of person, always needing instructions even for the simplest of things. As a result, she moved too slow, and with babies you have to be quick and calm.

Her primary role really was to feed them!

The thing is I enjoyed doing all that. So when the kids were grown up, and there were babies around, I could always be counted upon to do one of those parenting stuff when necessary.

My younger sister helped out, too. She was as confident around infants and didn't mind rocking them to sleep, which she was quite good at. We used to have a game on who could put a kid to sleep the fastest.

And when one of the young ones were sick, we would also be around to help out.

I remember a time when my eldest nephew was having a bad episode of colic (which was a symptom of his lactose intolerance) and to give his parents a reprieve, he would stay with me and fall asleep on my chest. As exhausted as I would be because he wouldn't settle down for hours - likely due to pain - it was bliss when he finally quieted down.

So, yeah, that was a lot of sacrifice for those guys, but I love them to pieces and would always be grateful for the privilege of taking care of them.

While I was never blessed to be a mother, it is ironic that I have very strong maternal instincts. Perhaps because I was part of their growing up years, so I felt like they were my children, too, and would worry about them when they are out or if they had those little accidents (falls and bumps).

Seeing them all grown up now, I can't help but wonder how time flies so fast and I've witnessed life transform before my very eyes.

Gone are the babies I used to cradle in my arms, or who I'd chase around when they finally learned to walk and were getting ready to run, or who would squeal in delight as I threw them in the air and caught them in a hug.

Yeah, there were times when they were babies or toddlers and I'd watch them sleep, seeing all their innocence and imagining possibilities once they were grown.

I actually miss those baby moments. It was so much easier to handle them, however physically exhausting it can get. When they would look up to you for guidance and put their tiny hands in yours as a sign of trust, those were heart-melting moments.

I read to them, sang to them, taught them to work on puzzles, color, write, draw... the whole nine yards!

And those occasions when I would take them to the park and play with them, running around and after tiny tots with short legs, then catching them as they ran in to wrap their tiny arms around your legs.

I miss the laughter and smiles over very simple things. When being with them was really being present, and not seeing them now with their noses usually buried in their phones.

Dirty ice cream, cotton candy, fishball, slides and swings, throwing and catching balls, and just running while shouting in glee. Those are my memories of the kids. Very priceless, and heartwarming.

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