Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Playing Mommy!

Remember the times, when we girls, as kids, loved playing mommy to our barbie dolls, putting them to sleep, feeding them spoonfuls of imaginary edibles, bathing them, dressing them up and brushing their hair. Times have changed, and playing mommy has now shifted gears from being my favourite game, to becoming a duty. Hello all, I’m a 25-year-old with a kid.

Those who know me must have fainted by now. Those who don’t, will faint now! Hello all, once again. I’m a 25-year-old with a kid. A 29-year-old kid! :D

The other day, I was watching him. He was tapping away on his phone, wrapped in a blanket. As soon as I walked into the room, he dived into the blanket, just like a turtle effortlessly slips into its shell, trying his hand at fake coughing. As I began to get ready, brushing my hair and tying it up into a high pony, I could see him in the mirror, peeping out of the blanket, his eyes glued to me, coughing again. I ignored him on purpose. He began to moan, sounding as if he would die any minute. “What’s wrong,” I asked him, finally, trying to sound casual. “Oh, nothing,” he said, his voice gruff, “I think I have fever.” I felt his forehead, he indeed had fever, mild temperature, to be honest. “Pop a pill, and take some rest,” I said, “you’ll be just fine.” His face dropped. He pouted like a whiny kid and said, “Could you please place a wet kerchief on my forehead? I’m feeling horrible.” I got the hint and obliged. For the next couple of hours, I saw a fully grown bearded man wear the garbs of a two-year-old, not letting me go anywhere. “I want cream biscuits,” he said, waking me up as I fell asleep attending to this oversized kid. Off I went into the kitchen and got him a packet of orange cream biscuits. “Noo, not this, Bourbon,” he promptly said, making the best of his puppy faces.

Meet my 29-year-old kid, my husband, who shrinks from the man sporting a six-pack, to a helpless baby as soon as the health-o-meter starts weakening. Every time his health dips, even by the slightest margin possible, I know I have to play ‘mommy’. It’s a pleasure, and a pain, too, to see him whine, act cranky and babble. But then, I do remember the promises I made with the sacred fire as the witness - I promised to stand by him, in sickness and in health, in sanity and insanity, without, of course, knowing that there will be a lot of the latter!

Who doesn’t like it?

All of us are attention seekers, let’s admit. We might not shout from the rooftops, wear loud attires or even come up with weird stuff. But, in the company of people we are close to, we like to be in the limelight. We like it when we are pampered, we like being surprised, and hell yes, we like it when we are praised. You’re lying if you disagree.

With his not-so-frequent bouts of man-flu, looks like my husband is ticking off stuff from his to-do list as far as giving me on-the job training goes. With this experience, I’m pretty sure I’ll play mommy pretty effectively, whenever the ‘realtime’ situation comes knocking!