Armaan turned four on the 1st of October.
This of course means that the crazy, technicolour, LSD trip that is Armaan has been around for approximately 1460 days, which honestly does no justice to the life that the kid packs into his being. I mean – DAYS? These lame parameters of measurement, I say.
Had I been the sort of mother I everyone wants me to be, I would have posted this the night before, with the usual quaint anecdotes about the wonderboy he is. As it stands, I am glad that I am neglectful (also read intuitive) and a patently bad mother. Why?
Because on the day he turned 4, certain evil, green elves (and since I have no evidence AGAINST said elves, I am running with this) entered his head and performed a life-altering lobotomy, changing his personality in distressing ways.
a) For one, the WHINE, dear God, THE WHINE. The unbearable I WANT and WAAAH and clearly we were put on this earth to harsh his frikkin’ mellow. This from the Artist Previously Known As Sunshine, whose farts smelt of roses. This is where Life jumps in with a “Muahahaha, Imma bite your butt”, because we have always adored not just his happy ways, but the inbuilt decorum the child seemed to possess, which made him look on in horrified silence when other children melted down in stores or threw fits of rage. I may even have worried that Armaan was suppressing his true feelings sometimes.
Now of course, I wish he would SUPPRESS the hell up. Because he simply has to learn that Mommy dearest splinters into furious smithereens in the face of continued resistance because she is mature like that.
b) His relationship to food has become bizzarre. From sipping our cappucino to eating our sushi to chomping down spicy mutton, this child was what the universe owed me after Arvind, who played the lead role in Everything You Make Positively Revolts Me. For the past week everytime I bring a vegetable within a metre’s radius, my inner warning system sirens “You fool, you complete twit!” and I know I have drawn blood and I must pay. Pay dearly.
“NO VEGGIES!! DON’T WANT MEAT! Only pasta. And yogurt.”
His entire diet is now reduced to beige coloured carbs and a dollop of turkish yoghurt. He flounces away from the table (something he earlier TOTALLY judged) and has to be brought back firmly. Luckily, the evil elves have not coached him about the shattering side-effects of consuming fruit. With a kosher list of about 5 items, life – it’s just the bloody gift that keeps giving if you know what I mean.
c) Them Nights of Fury. He is enraged about having to wake up to pee. He is furious that I am not beside him every minute he sleeps. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. Must be coming down with a virus, we said the first couple of nights. Virus in HIS BRAIN, I might have muttered resentfully, on the 4th night.
“I suspect our son is possessed by evil.” I moaned quietly into my pillow last night as his screech rent the peaceful night.
So on this day, 6 days into his fourth year, I am blowing out a candle and making a wish to get my baby back. The one, who still irrepressibly comes through in fits and starts of bright colour. Only, I want him ALL back.
The boy who nuzzles my neck and adores his mother’s “ticklishy”. Who has perfected the art of making me read book after book with him with a “Wummore. Wummore” set to a blinding smile. My co-pilot in the kitchen, cooking, stirring and tasting everything with absolute gusto. Hell, I just want his HAPPY back. And his absolute adoration. No pressure:-)
I want ’em elves gone. And while they’re moving out, Mamma needs mojitos. Then maybe I’ll write that seriously gushy post. In the meanwhile, my two favourite pictures with Armaan from 2o11 so far. And the picture taken on his birthday – an Indian summer birthday in October in Norway. A picture that will make you disbelieve absolutely everything I have written in his post. *sigh* It was before the elves. Really.
I IZ FOOOHHHH.
On a Wing and a Prayer 