Manic Monday and Toddler Tales 

To call the last week dramatic would be an understatement. I am looking for the right word, somewhere in the lines of “nail-bitingly thrilling, making you sit on the edge of the seat exciting, undulating between hope and desperation and yet frustratingly slow because it keeps you waiting” Just to make sure that an eventful week doesn’t end without the due flourish, miss munchkin decided to not sleep until twelve midnight yesterday and then woke up every hour until seven in the morning when I had had enough of not sleeping. What happened in the week makes for another long-ass post, and right now my mental faculties are not exactly at peak working order, so I will save it for another day. For now, let’s just focus on today, shall we? We shall. 
So this morning, after the husband left for work and even the double strength coffee failed to work its charm, and I just couldn’t shake off the bluesI decided to take matters into my own hands. I closed the door, pulled the curtains, hoped no neighbours were watching, and did something I haven’t done in ages: I baltered. Which is just a newfangled word for “dancing artlessly without particular grace or skill but usually with enjoyment“. I put on a happy, happy playlist and jumped and pranced and hopped and skipped and twisted and shook my hands and at one point even shimmied my way around the living room. It was awkward and comical and definitely not a pretty sight, but for once in my life, I actually followed advice from stuff I keep reading. I danced like no one was watching.
Except of course, Miss munchkin was watching every bit of it in rapt attention. Which made me wonder what she must think of Mamma dearest suddenly turning into a manic clown who was monkeying about the living room. And that in turn made me wonder if she would remember this day, seeing her mother dance in wild abandonment and relishing every bit of it. Part of me hopes she will. Particularly because I know of a certain mother who would also lock the door, and dance like crazy with her daughter and laugh all the while as she did so. Okay, so that mother was mine. Which gives me all the more reason to hope that my little one rememebers this.
I hope she remembers the good times, of course. Not the times when I sigh “Not again!” and roll my eyes and tiredly pick up crumbs of her dinner from the floor and lift her up from the high chair to wash mashed potato smeared all over her hair while muttering to myself. Or when I get *this* close to yelling at her for the umpteenth time “IF YOU JUMP OFF THE COUCH YOU WILL FALL AND BUMP YOUR HEAD MISSY!” Who am I kidding? I do yell at times. I am not proud of it but I am human after all. And yet, I hope by some miracle she remembers only the happy times and conveniently forgets the trying times.
I hope she remembers singing duets in the kitchen with me, from Stevie Wonders to Bruno Mars, as I cook her lunch. I hope she remembers the countless hours she spends on my lap reading book after book, turning page after page until we reach the end only to have her say “Again!” and again. I hope she remembers the walks we take while greeting the birds and the flowers and the trees that we see, or even the car rides where we “recite” our favourite books and annoy the cab driver with encores of sing along nursery rhymes. I hope she never forgets her goofy dance, standing with her back to the TV and waving her hands about and bending her knees in a way that only a toddler can make look adorable. I hope she remembers our favourite “hug game”, where she would run to me from one end of the to room, give me a hug, a kiss on each cheek and then run back again only to do it about fifteen times more. I hope she never outgrows cuddly hugs and squishy kisses. I hope she always remembers that Mamma’s arms make for safe haven, and no matter what happens, no matter how difficult she gets during the day, each day will always end with a kiss.
For my part, I know will never forget the best of the times. Like the other night, when I was on the edge trying to put her to sleep for over two hours, hungry and tired, when suddenly she looked up at me, held both my cheeks in her tiny hands and popped kisses on every inch of my face. Or yesterday, when out of the blue, during our late late dinner at 11pm, she suddenly surprised us by singing the entire ABC song, and then proceeded to feed me rice grain by grain. Or even today, when seeing me dance like crazy she decided to join me and giggled with me all the while. I know when time has passed and she is all grown up I won’t remember the sleepless nights or the toddler tantrums and mealtime messes. All I will cherish are the cuddles and giggles.
It’s late evening now and Monday is gracefully about to announce its exit. It knows it is not very welcome, and like an apologetic guest, lets the moments trickle by in silence. The house is quiet and dark and the husband has put on a much forgotten playlist of slow Hindi songs and I can almost forget that it has been a trying day. I do remember the crazy dancing though. Maybe I should make it a daily affair after all.

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2 thoughts on “Manic Monday and Toddler Tales 

  1. Dagny says:

    Awww! What an adorable photo Sam! And don’t you worry… she will remember all you want her to and none of the stuff you don’t want her to. Mark my words! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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