My First Nephew

Being an only child,  the closest I get to having a niece or a nephew is through my first cousins. Although I have nieces and nephews from my father’s side of the family, I did not grow up with them. I have met 3 or 4 of them but it did not feel like I was an aunt. They live far away from me.

The first week of July this year, we welcomed a new baby in the family (mother’s side). My cousin is the father of this cute little boy. It is amazing how one little boy can make a grown man cry with joy.  Yeah, my cousin is one proud daddy and I am a proud aunt.

My First Nephew

The sight of the baby sleeping is calming. I can stare at this all day. I tried carrying him but I worry that I might squish him or drop him. I have held a baby only a few times in my life so there is that fear that I was not doing it right. I do not think I can babysit for this kid. I’ll just wait for him to grow up and I’ll be his playmate. Hopefully, I will be the cool aunt- the one with all the candies and junk food. Hey, it is not my role to discipline. I am not the parent.  I do not think my cousin is reading this blog so I am safe to declare this things.

I pray that this kid will grow up to be a fine young man.

Below is a favorite poem of mine by Rudyard Kipling. It says everything I want to say to the little boy when grows up.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!