At about half past five, I am typing a review of two restaurants, tingly – the SMS comes, declaring, “You’re an auntie!”
Yes I am. No more Jer Jer.
“What are you thinking?” the mother says, hours after the birth.
The father has stepped out to take the grandparents home. The son is in good hands in the ward. I am fresh – more like old – out of the office. We are alone, hand in hand, stoic mother and silly auntie.
“I am thinking you’re a mommy…and I’m an auntie.” The tears come.
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