abu & rabad

that’s abu’s foot. this is a common occurrence in our household, so not to worry. we have a bone contusion which is not a fracture but deserves a plaster to be on the safer side.

so be it.

there’s more to this post than just “look, he hurt his foot.”

now, just because it’s a common occurrence doesn’t mean we deprive the children of our tender, loving care, ok? so, 4-5 hours in the last couple of nights have been spent listening to “ow, ow, ow it hurts” now, how it decides to hurt only at night, has always been a mystery.

how? the day before yesterday, abu, rabad and a couple of friends from the building, t-man and little-terror-a, were playing a game of “let’s break this huge, heavy loose tile into smaller pieces by throwing it on the floor” and one of the pointed pieces in t-man’s hands ended up on abu’s foot. of course, i tried to stop them, but a little too late.

anyhow, last evening i decided that i need to go for my walk and its high time (as the doctor recommends) that abu start walking around. i use my usual line, “i’m going down for a walk, you can join me or stay at home by yourself” usually this means, both of them come wagging behind and start playing with their friends when they reach down.

abu - ma you go, i will stay home alone…

rabad - i’ll stay with him, don’t worry. he’ll take care of me

me - uhhh…he needs to be taken care of, who’ll do that?

totally expecting an “aaaaawww” moment, i had a smile in my mind.

rabad - t-man! we’ve called him, he’s coming over in 5 minutes…

yep! the same t-man!!!

* * *
ps1. i think, they have set it in their mind, that older person takes care of younger, and t-man is few months older. outlook needs to change…

ps2. t-man was very, very apologetic immediately after he threw the tile and much later too.

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so, the day before hubby dear had this conversation with rabad…

rabad - “mamma, when i grow up, i’ll have a pee-pee like abu, right?” (i think i sensed hopefulness in her tone)

me - “no baby, we were made girls and girls pee-pees are different from boys”

rabad - “but, why?”

me - “uh…..that’s how it is…”

rabad - “why did you make me girl, i wanted to be a boy”

me - “oh…uh…if you were a boy, you wouldn’t get to wear pretty skirts and frocks, clips and hairbands, bindis and bangles…”

i’m thinking really quick while i’m talking…this is not the right answer, what makes me like being a woman…being treated like a woman, that i think rabad is already making full use of (read foot note)…what else, what else…getting away from the traffic cop…no, bad idea…absolutely wrong time to tell her the things i hate about being a woman…

“how will you have a baby? only girls can have babies” BINGO! (she loves the idea of having a baby of her own)

rabad - “abu will not have a baby?”

me - “no”

end of conversation….matter disbursed for the time being…

after listening to the conversation between hubby dear and rabad, i get this feeling that rabad was double-checking and was clarifying her follow-up queries.

maybe we are goofing up. but how do you tell?
—

this happened last year, rabad was 3. we had been to a restaurant with a few friends recently. abu and rabad usually take off their shoes so that they can sit cross-legged.

at the end of the meal…

rabad - “you put on the shoes for me, pappa”

hubby dear - “no, on your own”

rabad, turning over to her friend ag, who is was 5 year old little boy - “please put shoes on for me”

ag dutifully bent over and put her shoes on for her…

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“I wanted to be a boy,” said Rabad to me, out of the blue, a couple of days back.

This is a common refrain with her.

“Why?”

“Because I want a pee-pee like boys.”

Mamma and I have had this conversation with her before, so I knew what to say.

“But then you would not be able to have a baby in your stomach, right? Boys can’t have babies in their stomach.”

I think the sentence was a little too long for her, and she got confused.

“But Abu came out of mamma’s stomach, na?” she protested.

“Yes, but Abu will never be able to have babies in his own stomach,” I corrected her.

That seemed to satisfy her. She stopped complaining.

But then there was a new problem.

“Who will be the father of my babies?”

Uh-oh!

I was thinking of a good answer, when she continued.

“I want Abu to be the father.”

“Abu can’t be the father of your babies.”

This is also area that we have been over before. In fact, I have pointed out to them (Abu and Rabad) that if brother and sister have babies, there is a possibility that babies might be born deformed. I’m sure she remembered that, but was just trying her luck, because she did not press this point further. But…

“But then who will be the father of my babies?” she said plaintively.

“It can be anybody,” I said, trying not to tell her more than she wants to know.

“I’ll never find a father for my babies,” she said in a sad sort of a voice.

“You’ll find one when you are older. See, right now you are in school. After you grow up, you will get out of school,” I started.

“Yes, and I will be a teacher,” she said brightly.

“Correct. And, when you are a grown-up teacher, you will have a lot of friends. You can choose one of them to be the father of your babies.”

She chewed on this new information for a moment.

“Can I just go to one of my friends and ask, ‘Will you be the father of my babies?’” she asked. She had this air of “this is too easy to be true” about her.

“Exactly!” I said triumphantly, glad that we had all the logistics worked out.

She’s just 4, and we’ve already had 50% of the birds-and-bees conversation. In another 4 years, I am expecting to have the full 100% of the conversation with Abu.

Parenthood. It comes at you a little faster than you anticipated.

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for the first time yesterday morning, abu tread water in the pool without any floats!!!! now, he is all excited about learning how to swim fast (translated to breathing, moving hands and legs in coordination, etc - because according to him he already knows how to swim, you see, he can be in water without drowning for over 5 years now).

***
yesterday evening -

we were listening to some song (can’t remember which one) which the kids had seen on TV
rabad - mamma, is she sad?
me - no, she is actually very happy
rabad - then why was she crying in TV?
me - sometimes when we are very very happy, tears come out of our eyes. they are called happy tears.

abu - just like i was very happy this morning when i swam without floats and pappa said, “i am very proud of you, baby”, a tear came out of my eye…

—
ps. abu went on to clarify that the tear was not from swimming, but was a real tear

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after a long time, i found the time/felt like applying some eye make-up. Was applying eyeliner, no mascara, no eyeshadow. rabad walks in, “mamma, what are you doing?”
me: getting ready
rabad: you don’t look like this
me: huh?
rabad: your eyes also don’t look like this
me: how do you mean?
rabad: your eyes are always clean, not black-black

am going to take that as a compliment for when my eyes are clean-clean

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this was when she was 3 months away from being 4 …

no instructions from no one and no one asked her to do it either…i am sure you can sense the pride i feel…

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aaah! the comfort of someone running fingers through your wet hair! but, this is taking it one step further.

i think this one deserves a place in the “believe it or not” section. and this is not the first time either.

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so, we are scanning channels, and we come across this Reliance Mobile’s catchy advert.

rabad - those things cannot come out of her head like that…how are they showing it?

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this was when we went to watch om shanti om. during the “31 star” song, rabad started screaming “om shanti om” at the top of her voice, every time they said it - which is like 256 times.

anyways, i tried to “shhhhushhh” her.

“mumma, they are shouting “om shanti om”, i am only copying them”

i think i should just be happy that she didn’t say, “i am hot girl na…”

(for the uninitiated, the song goes “all the hot girls, put your hand in the air and say om shanti om”)

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I was telling a group of friends how anurag kashyap hated the dialogues
he wrote for Shakalaka Boom Boom and that he wrote a post titled shaka
laka fuck fuck at Passion for Cinema.

rabad, who i thought was sleeping, asks …”mamma, what did that uncle say?”
hubby dear - “Shakalaka boom boom”
rabad - “then what did mamma say”
hubby dear - “ask mamma”
rabad- “what is puck puck” - at this point i was looking for a place to sink my face in
hubby dear - “uh…um…”
rabad - “draw it for me”

o-kay - i shall be more careful next time. and will copy-paste this 100 times as punishment.

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