Updated: Feb 21, 2019
I remember standing in front of the door, staring at my mom, who was struggling to wear her coat, and I said to my mom, "Mom, are you getting fat?"
I don’t remember what happened after my mean comment or straightforward question or whatever you want to call it, but what I do remember is that not long after that I got a baby sister I never asked for. I started receiving less than half of the attention I got before, could not sleep in peace because of her crying all night, and my chores in the house escalated quickly from folding my own clothes to washing her dirty cloth diapers by hand; we did not have Pampers or a washing machine back in the day. But against all the odds, I loved that baby. And that is when my baby fever started, at the age of four.
My baby fever has stayed with me since. I find myself calling my little cousins to know about their days, about what their parents are doing and how is life in Mongolia. They give you cutest yet realest answers. I spend a lot, a lot of time watching cute baby (and sometimes cat) videos on internet when I probably should be doing my homework. And whenever team Biome visits a primary school, I hang out with children under the name of research for our children’s book about water. I sometimes think this baby fever literally made me a creepy woman who feels sympathetic for the witch in Hansel and Gretel, except the baby eating part. I like beef.
But my baby fever was also the biggest reason why I am doing what I am doing. I am going to school, learning how to cook and how to do basic house chores, trying to be the best human being I can be, so I can be a good mom when the time comes. And I chose this profession, so I could make the world a better place for all the chubby little babies all over the world.