Shabd has been sleeping these past few nights at his Dadi’s (granny) place on account of me going for an operation. He loves his grandparents to bits and they are exactingly attentive to his every whim, but it’s not home. And this morning, Shabd threw a mammoth tantrum to remind us of just that.
All he wanted was to sit on my lap, with Rudolph the red nosed dog and cuddle. If Papa or Dadi or Nounou even so much as came within a 5m radius of our couch, he started screaming and thrashing his head until they humbly retreated leaving mummy with her cub. No one was even allowed to talk to me without this cub letting out a ferocious roar!
Fifteen minutes of cuddling and humming and soothing was all he required. Just as suddenly as the tantrums had started, it concluded. Shabd calmly slid off my lap, said something in Shabdish (his own language) to his Papa, had a good laugh and tottered on to play with his blocks.
Kids are tough. Mine is tough, this I know. But even tough kids need their mummies. There is a limit to how patient and understanding even Shabd can be. I’m proud that my son has a voice of his own, that he is not yet inhibited by constraints of self-consciousness. It is my job to ensure that no matter what life throws his way, same as my parents did for me, Shabd will always be confident enough to speak his mind. And that he roars when he needs us.
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