The New Comer

This boy’s appetite is insatiable.
He has been breastfeeding continuously like a vulture who has stumbled upon a once-in-a-lifetime wild find. By the time he closes his big brown eyes and lets limp his tight fist on my thumb, I am exhausted beyond measure. As I lay him down to sleep, I can almost feel my head spin as if am a little bit drowsy. I reach for a glass of water and some pain killers but stop right in my tracks. Did not someone mention to me that anything you consume ends up in the child’s system? So a pass the pain killing dose and settle just for the water. The throbbing continues and beads of sweat form on my hairline. I seem to be seeing black dots all over the place or is it a polka Sunday? My usually warm room is now getting colder and I reach on the coat hanger for a cardigan. What is happening?

The sun beams through the sheers in my room and I spy a smiling boy fast asleep in the baby’s cot. Ahhh, the contradictions of this life’s seasons. I wobble to the window just for a moment to have the sun warm my now goose-pimpled body and rid myself of the now gingerly shaking body. I lazily spread my body on the fluffy rug on the floor and fill as if my back has split into two but I finally make it. The rays of the sun seem to rejoice at the prospect of this engagement with my body and I feel the muscles unwind and the pain slip away in small but steady minutes. Soon I doze off to slumber-land.

‘Mmmah! Mmmah! Maamaa… ggooohl’ the sounds of the cooing tot wake me about two hours later. I raise my frame from the fluffed up rug—now feeling much much better. I pick up the now wiggling toothless smiling boy to my bosom. He just called my name and I’m simply exhilarated. I look at him perhaps puzzled, or was I dreaming that I had heard him call my name? As if to confirm my suspicion, he coos again, ‘Mmmah! Mmmah! Maamaa… ggooohl’

I remember that the Mmmah of his coo is a mimic of the million kisses I give to him daily before he goes to bed, before I leave the house and the very last thing before I wander into dreamland. This time around he does an even better job as the Mama is properly voweled in terms of pronunciation and I just hug him with so much joy. I immediately reach for my cell phone and call my Mummy like I have done in the past two decades every time I have a new discovery, a happy moment or a great benefit to share.

‘Mama… Tebogo just called me Mama,’ I hysterically speak at my Mama when she utters the proverbial Hallo on her phone.

‘Calm down baby girl… Now what are you saying?’ she replies almost as if giving instructions to a mere child— which she still considers me to be despite my many years.

‘Mama… Tebogo just called me Mama,’ I squeal.

‘Congratulations baby… Now that’s my grandson, as sharp as his grand-mamma. I need to see Tebogo, and you of course. I am on Riverside Drive can I come over?’ she asks. A mental picture of her crosses my mind and it is an understatement to say that I envy her. You see my mother is not the kind of woman who ends up with loads of fat despite the fact that she has borne a football team all by herself, without a caesarean section. Meeting her is like meeting a sophomore from some learning institution as she is petite and pretty too, and I’m not saying this just because she is my mum.

‘Yes, please do. Would you like me to do a quick lunch?’ I ask with excitement.

‘I’m bringing you a potluck to celebrate. Will be there in a-jiffy,’ she says with finality.

Over the years I have learnt never to argue with my mother. I believe she knows all. In fact this thought was so profound in my teen years that I was almost always convinced that Mummy was watching my every move. Thus it is no wonder that she would tell when her kids were planning naughty things. Just as I’m counting the milestones, my thought process is interrupted by a knock on the door. As I pick up my son and head to the door and open it, there stood a beautiful Mama not looking her age of over 50, in a wonderful woollen ensemble and with a smile to die for.
We settle down to savour her heavenly homemade goodies—I sure had missed these. Just then everything I had taken started an upward movement and as I hand the boy to her, my feet make a dash for the washroom. Up and out… all I had had for the short time all came out. After I settled down I thought it was a good idea to freshen the bowels with a glass of red wine. As I was raising my glass to my lips, Mama literally yanks it away from me, spilling some of it on my tee shirt.

‘Mama, what did you do that for?’ I ask almost throwing a tantrum.

She looks at me as calm as ever and ushers me to sit down with her. Rocking my son and moving away the homemade goodies she had brought me, Mama give me the sweetest smile ever.

‘Baby girl, you should be careful what you take. For heaven’s sake you should have told me so that I bring you something different!’ she said looking lost herself.

‘Told you what exactly Mama! This food is perfect and I would not wish for anything more,’ I say in exasperation.

‘Darling… you are pregnant.’

END: BL35/20

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