A trip down memory lane

Sticky Baby has a tan. The child looks like he’s a freshly baked, golden brown muffin. I know that may sound like I’m proud of his new colouring, but really I’m quietly shitting myself at the fact that evil sun rays have reached the pureness of my baby’s skin.

No amount of slipping on a shirt, slopping on sunscreen and slapping on a hat is helping. Nope, I think this kid is just destined to have his mother’s olive skin. 5 minutes outside and he goes from white to a nice shade of beige.

Seeing him so olive, just as I was as a child, reminds me of the emotional torture my older sister used to put me through. At the peak of summer, when I was at my brownest she would say in a conspiring whisper:

“Look, mum and dad aren’t ever going to tell you so I will. You’re adopted. Can’t you see that you don’t look like us? Look at your skin. It’s so dark. That’s because we got you from the mountains of Indonesia. Your real name was Tin-bun-yu”.

So there you have it. Sisterly love. Following the trauma, Mum would have to show me my birth certificate to prove that we were blood related.

Funny as hell now though. Good one sis!