The visceral impact of last week is still haunting me. Not a thing in my household happened in my favor, even the usually unnoticed, mundane chores.
I normally wake up as soon as baby D wiggles out of his sleeping posture, rush to the loo before he comes to his senses and attend to his needs.
What happened last week..
The wiggling alarm failed to alert me. Or I guess there were no such movements at all. Kid briskly began drilling my nostrils, simultaneously slapping my face in a rather ruthless manner.
Half choked and completely annoyed, I woke up and hugged him tight and blew kisses, mentally forgiving myself for not waking up for his usual signs. I tried to put him inside the crib and enter the loo to empty my brim-filled bladder which is rarely under my control these days.
Baby D cried his lungs out, glued himself tighter to my bosom and refused to get down. Since he is too young to understand my agony, I had to confront the sleepy Dr.H for his son’s sudden violent behavior. Before he could understand the fuss and grumble about the fault in my genes in return, I quickly placed baby D over his tummy and skedaddled to the restroom.
The rest of the days became more challenging, as baby D never ever let go of me even after we tirelessly cajoled him with everything else he likes. He made sure he attentively clings on to me from morning till night. I gracefully accepted the situation as it came, except for the loo privileges. Baby D’s obsession for me has transformed my homemaking skills to a whole new level. When you drop by, you will witness my avatar as a one-handed cook and gardener throughout the day. I also brush, wash my face, clean the bottles, feed the fish with the only hand that is bare. The other one wraps baby D onto the over-working side of my hip from the time he gets up from bed.
Eventually, I also learnt the knack of controlling the urge to urinate until baby D half-heartedly uncoils himself from me. I even boasted about this new skill to my mom who disapproved of my talent and asked me not to procrastinate the nature’s calls carelessly. It was only when my newly acquired skill backfired yesterday, I realized I was making a BIG mistake.
When I woke up last morning, I had mild fever and severe stomach pain which had a different level of intensity than the usual pain we experience in the month. As always, my self-diagnosis with a little assistance from internet was stomach cancer and I hesitantly approached Dr.H, who, after asking a handful of questions enlightened me with the less harsh truth that I have urinary tract infection. ‘UTI’, he stiffly said and pestered me to drink the unpleasantly brown colored syrup twice a day.
The clinging-on-to-mom phase was initially going great, I even hoped and secretly prayed to God to let my son continue to celebrate my presence forever. But too much of anything is harmful, even if it’s an overdose of love. Though I am trying my best to snuggle baby D as long as he needs and accept this seemingly cute phase, this dramatic love torture is, to be honest, too much to bear and I sincerely hope the father of the house also gets a fair share of this overdosed love soon.