The rustling at the door suddenly rouses me up from my sleep. I prick my ears listening to the slightest sound. It must be the dead of the night I tell myself since I can’t figure anything in the pitch-black darkness.
Moments later, the door flies open. Instinctively, I lie still clenching my fists, with my eyes roving all over ready for action. My heart is pounding hard as the pillow I’m lying on gets drenched in sweat.
Damn, I curse the fact that I have slept naked. You see, it is hard to fight for your life with your groins on the loose. I know the men reading this are vehemently nodding in agreement.
“By this point, you might have gotten the hint that this might not turn out to be a hero story despite the corky headline. I regret to inform you that you are absolutely right”.
Related: 21 Signs You Are Still A Boy, Not A Man!
Also read: Become a Social god: The Ultimate Alpha Male Guide
Faint footsteps are hastily coming towards my bed. Suddenly, I feel cold, wet hands all over my neck and face. As I am about to scream, oops I mean pounce back, I notice that the hands are uncannily small and tender.
Then I hear a distant voice calling, dad, daad, then DAADDY! The munchkin almost blows one of my eardrums screaming my name from the top of his lungs.
My name is not daddy for your information, but to him, that’s my name, and I couldn’t have it any other way. Apart from him, there is only one other person that has got the license to call me ZZdaddy!! But this is a story for another day.
“I can’t sleep,” he says. “Why can’t you sleep?” I mumble. “There is some ‘Dudu!’ (scary insect or ghost, or whatever) in my bed.” He whines.
“Let us go and chase the Dudu so that you can go back to sleep,” I grumpily say as I grab a towel; a sleek move to talk him out of our bed.
Reluctantly, he follows me to his room. Before I place him in his bed, I perform what would qualify to be a semi-exorcism ritual to cast out the ghosts, insects and whatnot. He chuckles as he watches my hilarious performance and then pecks him on the forehead before I put him back to bed.
I get back to bed, beaming with pride for my magical/magnificent/badass babysitting/sleeping skills. Woefully, the magical moment is short-lived. I guess it was a case of getting high on my own supply because the door bursts open again just as I am about to dose off.
Guess who unapologetically matches in? A one-foot-tall juvenile, with the guts to pepper my sleep twice within an hour.
Related: Are We Babying Our Kids To Death? Teen Suicide
This time around, I almost lose my cool. My every nerve screams at me to frog the sleep into his head, but fortunately, I know better. So I grab the boy by the hand, sleepwalk him back to his room, drop him on his bed and then murmur something lullabyish as I take my leave.
Barely do I get into my bed, do I hear distant whimpers, that are getting louder by the second. I decide to ignore the lad to teach him a lesson, but oh boy! I end up taking the lesson.
The wails soon turn into eruptive tantrums that clear out every ounce of sleep in my head. I try to explain to him that tomorrow daddy has an early morning because of bla bla bla…
I know my back is pushed against the wall when I try to use logic on a child who doesn’t understand or give a hoot about what I’m saying.
I give up! I tell the boy to climb on the bed so that we can sleep together. Now, this is the language he understands.
He jumps right on the bed and makes himself comfortable. Seconds later, I can hear him sucking one of his fingers zealously to lull himself to sleep.
I think the boy decides that his slippery lukewarm-saliva-filled fingers are too delicious to keep to himself. He unceremoniously tries to shove them into my mouth. I let out an involuntary curse, as I turn to sleep facing the other direction…
…In the wee hours, I am suddenly woken by a knee jerk at the back of my head. As I turn in protest, he sits his stinky butt right on my face. I fling him off my face, just barely hard enough to send him flying off the bed.
As I settle back to sleep, I can help wonder who is this terrorist that:
- Comes into MY house
- Eats MY food,
- Pees, pukes and craps on ME,
- Orders ME around,
- Wakes ME up a million times at night,
- Comes into MY BED and sits his stinky butt on my face…?
I could go on all day…worst of all he does this with impunity.
…I wake up with a slight headache, but the sight of him sleeping peacefully melts the last night’s battering away. Though he sometimes drives me into a raging lunatic, he’s also wet my eyes with joy more times than I can remember.
Maybe it’s the Stockholm syndrome (If you don’t know what this is; Google it!), but I don’t give a dirty dog ass about it. One thing I’m certain about is that there’s nothing so pure as loving and being loved by your own.
A man may not be an everyday hero, but when it comes to his own, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do.
Though often unsung; a dad is one of the most valuable person one can have in their life!
Pat yourselves on the back gentlemen! Pat yourselves!