“Your baby is sooo cute!”
This is one compliment I stopped paying any mother after I had mine. I prefer to tell the baby directly
“Fine boy! Fine girl!”
I always told Kabiyesi before we got married that the sight of babies created an ache in my womb.
“Do you know where your womb is?”
Leave matter, looking just makes you want. So here we are today, the next lines may be gross.
While preparing dinner yesterday, I entered the kiddies room to see how they were doing. I was greeted by a combo of foul smells.
With my heart in my mouth I began the search. 100watts has acquired a nasty habit of pulling her diapers till at least one snap is loose. So her leggings and gown had been generously sprayed with misdirected shit.
While still squeezing my face, her brother who is potty trained but had diarrhea didn’t quite make the race to the toilet on time.
A little can happen in a few minutes. That was how these kids did my evening reverse and pullover.
Clothes were a mess, their bodies were a mess, my bathroom was a mess and my house smelt awful.
I sent a message to my sis Adaobi one day, asking her if she also felt horrified by some shit tasks. She laughed and said
“Ahhn, Do you have choice? You pack and flush”
Does it make me a bad mother that I don’t like packing all that mess? No. I don’t like it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it. I pack it anyway, but I wont pretend its as delicious as my mirinda and vodka mix.
My mom has her field days laughing at me. I recall the first time i carried my son immediately after his bath, insisting I would hold him for a while before he got diapered up. The boy just went lose on me, and I raised him up in shock
“Mommy, he has poo-poo on me!”
Seeing as his pipe was now directly in my face, he topped it with a good spray of urine.
Its beautiful in the end, I promise. All the energy and sacrifice makes you feel like an angel on earth.
As I was rinsing off their clothes, they both walked to me and put their hands over their noses saying
Igbo mother me: Me Mmmnn abi? Look at their heads, Mmmnn wa gi onu there.
They laughed away. The boy even offered “Sorry Mommy”.
How do I even tell the story of Kabiyesi’s broken photo and I-pad to him? It wasn’t me. It was his son and silly football. The same son who broke all the fancy side stools and art works he cherished.
When we come out all smiley and them kids looking like little stars, it is because we take the good with the bad.
That is the beginning of parenting, it is when two lines meet. The line of your parenting experience meets with the line of gratitude for what your own parents did for you.
In the end, if you have felt that familiar ache in the womb and lose your composure when you see a baby, this is no breaking news or spoiler but hey…a baby is not only cute. There is more to handling a baby than making faces and prophesying undying cuteness.
This is what I mean, my baby is a package of cuteness and responsibility.
My baby is not just cute, my baby shits!