Monday, December 8, 2008

A weekend of wisdom

He lies in bed, curled up, seeking comfort from the primordial foetal position he knew not so far back. Racked with cramps, he groans intermittently, his favourite snake show on tv not enough to block the pain. Now and then, he props himself up, smiling as he sees the Black Mamba swallow her rodent prey, flopping down again as it slithers away.

I lie down next to him, sighing, lacing my fingers into his, breathing his sick-baby smell. He reaches out to caress my forehead, lingering in the bunch of wild hair.

'My tummy hurts,' he says.

I don't know what to say. I've finished saying 'I know', 'I'm sorry', 'It'll get better', so I just sigh and clutch his fingers tighter.

'It's okay Mama,' he says. 'It'll get better.'

--

We're on our weekly Saturday gallivanting trip, and I've brought him to a marvelous piece of architecture known as Amdavad Ni Gufa. A sub-terrain cave structure, it looks like a mammoth turtle peeping out, and its cavernous interiors are painted with animals, people and trees by MF Hussain.





It's the first time Nino's seen a cave, and he's a little frightened by the lack of light - and the 'funny things that happen to his voice'. We sit on the floor, chatting, and my normally boisterous child is quiet, looking around.

'Are you frightened?' I ask him.

'Are you sure there are no bears in this cave?' he asks me.

'Of course. This cave is for people.'

We move to the the pathway that circles the cave and I peel an orange for Nino to eat. He carefully gathers the peels and seeds and puts them back in the plastic bag I'd brought the fruit in.

'That was a good thing you did,' I tell him.

'I know,' he says, 'Littering is a bad idea, no?'

We're returning from an organic fair on Sunday afternoon, and I've a pretty cactus pot in one hand, warm sun on my back and Nino's hand in the other hand, holding me tight.

'You make me so happy, my heart will burst,' I tell him.

'I'll go home and fix it,' he says.

--

We've been doing phonetics on the laptop all evening, and Nino's Dad calls him out on the terrace for some rough tumble, boys style.

'No, papa,' he says.

'My battery is low.'

9 comments:

OrangeJammies said...

Please to tell him the anti-littering comment makes him a hero in my eyes. OJ is a litter-nazi. If you ever see a south bombay baby making a beeline for the nearest dustbin, you'll know who was behind it.

momstir said...

He just keeps getting more and more adorable. I love little cleanliness freaks:)

Nino's Mum said...

OJ - I just imagined that! He's as ferosh a litter-nazi as they come. Once made his granddad stop the car, get out and pick up a peice of paper the old man had chucked out :)

Momstir - Nino has other OCD's too: he can't bear the sight of a not-properly closed drawer or cupboard - even if he's visiting someone else's home. And he tells me my bathroom is 'icky'. Which I'm sure the m-i-l has been teaching him that behind my back!

momstir said...

you are funny!

Nits said...

hahaha, stop blaming your m-i-l. if nino says it's icky, it's icky dammit.

OrangeJammies said...

It's not OCD! It's called BEING PARTICULAR. Go, Nino, go Nino, go Nino, go!

Nino's Mum said...

momstir/nits/oj - talk about my son being 'virtually' pampered by three aunts!

mg said...

Awwww, what a wise little owl.

Nino's Mum said...

funny you should say that mg - i've always pictured Nino as an owl: big, wide-eyed curiosity and his nocturnal habits to boot.
you're very wise yourself, if I may say so :) *avid blog reader crosses her heart*