The Secret Breakfast

Last time, I had just been given positive results on a pregnancy test kit for a birthday gift. My wife Panda and I agreed that that was the best present ever, however awkwardly delivered; mainly because I had put to shame all rumours floating around my relatives and peers, questioning my reproductive ability. Seemingly, our decision to save before conceiving our baby was ill-interpreted by our rural folk and slandered by my peers. So after our gynaecologist rubber-stamped our sweet discovery, with the consent of my wife-of course, I have been standing tall among my peers tooting my horn, now reeling in the calibre of Abraham- father of many nations. We are now two months at it!

Subsequently, all my attention has shifted to Panda. She graduates to another level equivalent to the royal fragility of a queen termite. Whenever I am not at work, I make a fuss all over her like an angelic chaperone; feeding her, propping her, supporting her up and down the stairs, offering to do even the minute titbits, like helpfully reading aloud from a pregnancy magazine while she lies back. I have even tried cooing her to sleep, an effort that did not bear fruit. She would end up bursting into laughter, likening my throaty hum to that of an ancient war horn.

Her occasional protests at being treated like an invalid were met with well backed up quotes from books and magazines, stressing the importance of rest and sleep during pregnancy. Apparently, I have started amassing anything that talks about pregnancy and fatherhood, including magazines and DVD’s, like a giant bear stocks up fat on nearing hibernation. That is why, Panda had no choice but to throw in the towel and enjoy the goodwill; occasionally offering’ helpful advice on how to launder bed sheets, or how to best manicure her nails and the like. Once in a while however, she insists that my benevolence may be a recipe for obesity. She still does not win.

I have been wanting to tell Panda the special ‘Happy Expectancy’. So, over the past two weeks I have been scheming my surprise move to the last detail. Yester-night found me laboriously working on its execution. Feigning work overload and tight deadlines, I returned to the ‘living room to work’. But of course shuffled into the kitchen instead and began the process of mixing ingredients to bake a ‘Happy Expectancy Cake’ as christened by the recipe book-which tells you I am a novice in cuisine.

For the love of family, I am never willing to corrode my wife’s taste buds with my bizarre cooking inventions. I measured, whisked and blended ingredients in accordance with the law of the book. After preparing the cake icing, I left the baking process to the mercy of the automated oven timer and retreated to bed where an oblivious Panda was fast asleep.

Thinking about the fate of my cake gave me a sleepless night. Bad results were simply unacceptable at this point. I tossed and turned like a fumigated maggot silently praying all goes well. Unusually, I am up at 5 o’clock this morning. Everything is flowing seamlessly so far. I tiptoe to the kitchen ninja style, side stepping anything that can bang or clatter. I reach for the kitchen door and push. I freeze as it creaks unpleasantly, shattering the morning serenity. I kick a wedge under it to permanently hold it open and walk into the sweet aroma of baking, straight to the oven. I open the oven door and pull out the baking tray. I smile with relief at the puffed up hearty cake, nicely browned. Phew!

Artistically, I slowly ice a ‘Happy Expectancy Love’ message in bright red and leave it to set. Next, I heat a pan and quickly fry some sausages and eggs, and then I heat water and milk. I cannot wait for Panda’s reaction. I try to envision the marvel as I elegantly arrange everything on the trolley. Not long after, I am wheeling a cartload of sumptuous edibles towards our bedroom, leaving behind a covetous whiff. I gently push the door open and hold it with my foot as I push in the trolley. I do it so carefully; nothing should clatter or bang at this point. My eyes are on the bed for any signs of wakeful movements. Seeing none, I park beside the bed and rub my hands with glee. I mentally demand a trophy for my ‘mission impossible’ accomplished! ‘Honey?’ Comes Panda’s groggy voice. ‘Yes Baby?’

‘What is the time? You seem to have worked throughout the night?’ ‘All wasn’t in vain Baby … Come on lazy bones; it’s time to wake up.’ I say as I reach to help her up. Thankfully, she can’t make out the trolley in the darkness with curtains still drawn. ‘Aren’t you going to switch on the lights today?’ She inquires once seated. A question I was anticipating. ‘But of course I am Panda: I say as I bolt for the switch, before she stands and trips over my precious cart. Her first reaction upon seeing the food-cart is that of utmost bewilderment. The fellowship of a trolley in our bedroom is an odd sight from mars. But when she notices the sumptuous passengers on board, she seems somehow pleasantly surprised. She looks up and meets a mischievous smile. ‘Wow! Did Father Christmas pass by while I slept or what?’  .

‘Your guess is as good as mine, ‘Gal: I say as I uncover the cloth overlying the top to reveal more yummies. ‘Happy Expectancy Baby, breakfast in bed is on the man!’ I finally announce with proud grandeur. Suddenly, my beloved is groping for expressive words. ‘Someone pinch me … this must be a dream … Oh my God … a cake … really … ?’ ,

I know it will take some time before Panda starts making coherent statements again. Surprises have always had a thieving effect to her words. As she speechlessly stares at me, mouth wide agape, I busy myself drawing curtains open, switching off the lights and then I begin serving. ‘Wow!’ I exclaim as air filled with omelette hits my nostrils. I scoop a large potion and lump on two plates. I pop more lids and out came rolls and toast. ‘I can eat a whole calf with this appetite!’ I exclaim as I stir tea for her and I. ‘The smell … Baby, that smell!’ Panda suddenly laments. ‘What smell?’ I am puzzled. Without answering, she suddenly looks away from the trolley, her mouth a slight twitch at the corner.

The last time I saw that twitch, was a few months ago after we had rodents infesting our house poisoned. A giant dead rat had escaped the eyes of the exterminators making the entire house stink. ‘What? Everything alright Love?’ ‘No Love, I bet the eggs are making me sick: she retorts suddenly standing up. ‘I better leave the room, lest I ruin your appetite too. I don’t know what is happening to me .. .’ And she scurries out of the room, fast. Eggs! I wondered aloud.
I have taken the wisdom to read widely about pregnancy in the past month. My good memory goes to work fast, and soon I classify the incident as a side effect of pregnancy. I feel a bit at peace, knowing that at least my wife’s health is not at risk. However, I feel so disappointed and wasted after all my painstaking kitchen labouring. I stare at the cake among other delicacies I had toiled over so hard. It is all so useless, now that my Panda cannot feast on them.

But then, I know I cannot blame her. She must be feeling even worse than I do. The guilt of letting me down must surely be tormenting her now, wherever she is. It is not Panda that is revolted by my cooking, but that small fellow she has inside her belly. I know she needs me to reassure her and sooth her demoralized spirit. I place the plates back to the trolley and without a backward glance, I leave the house to search for my honey bird.

END: PG 20 / 58-59