A jealous mother and some conspiracies.

In the one (almost) decade I’ve known you as a partner, and over the last four years, as a father, there’s much I’ve learnt of you. Some facts were interesting, some fun, some horrifying and quite a few bits of it were confounding things. But lets strictly talk about you being a dad.

So, from the time when you didn’t quite know what ‘positive’ in a pregnancy test really meant, to filling forms to admit your 4 year old in a public school, your progress has been good. This is not me rating you. Its your pink marshmallow. She  will vouch for anything that has ‘papa’ in it. Actually, only she will. I’ll tell you why.

I still hate you for holding her the first time, before I could. (I should have sued the hospital, man. Chcha.). It was then, that a bond was made. A special one, which I haven’t figured yet. Something that makes her run to you, even if its me who bakes her the best cakes and buys her ALL the pinkness she demands. Its got something to do with you holding her first. I know and am convinced, it was a big conspiracy theory. And it all began there.

Because you worked late nights and passed gladly as a nocturnal being, ergo, had almost the entire night  to play with her in her early years. She being a night child herself, obviously liked being in your arms in those twilight hours, watching you, fascinated, as you effortlessly balanced her in the folds of your left arm and attended con-calls with your right. So there, you had an advantage of a night job. (That’s when you and her, I suppose, made little pacts, eh?)

Even when she was unwell. Severely sick. She preferred you. Why? You held her firm while they poked those nasty needles into MY poor baby. I couldn’t bear to do it. But she mistook my maternal fears and instead, looked at you as her papa in shining armour, while you coochie-cooed into her ears and distracted her when she was poked. You cast your spell there too. Very clever.

Then, you take the most unfair advantage of being the taller one of us. Why, she likes being perched on your shoulders more than she does on mine. The view is better from yours, but obviously. How unjust. Really. She puts her face on your head and also gives you a little head massage. Just not done.

The beach. I like photographing you both - to ensure she has memories for later. So you pounce on this opportunity and dash with her into the waters? While she looks into your eyes, hands clasped tight, like you were God or something. What's the big deal about getting into the water, anyway? And you will never hold my camera while I take her in, won’t you? More conspiracy.

The puzzles you solve together are done, ALWAYS when I am cooking dinner. Easy way to keep me out. Easy way to tell her, see dad is so much fun. If this is not treason, what is?

The trampoline. It cannot take my weight. And I admit, I’m a wee scared of it. Does that mean you both jump on it all Sunday morn and mock me? Besides, I know you jump less and sleep more on it.

Oh well, dinner time takes the conspiracy cake. When you feed her, she likes it better. Of course she does, and will. Why wouldn’t she, when you help her eat faster, by eating little spoons from her plate, yourself? And both of you suppress giggles when I come to check on you both. You think I haven’t noticed it? Such wrong means to make her yours.

She thinks big of you, just because you can ice-skate? And I cannot? And you do all sorts of things to annoy me. Slouched on the couch, both of you, watching meaningless animation, for hours. I know, that’s another way of gaining brownie points, no?

The worst, perhaps is bed-time. Your stories. I won’t allow them. I’m telling you. Should you tell her The Ali Baba story as many times as she demands? And must you read her 10 stories always? That sets a bench mark, no? So, there. I’m so convinced of a plot. Of a big nasty understanding between you both, that began right from the moment she was taken out of ME.

Oh there’s more. I have a slip disc, hence I cannot try that Super-Girl thingy you do with her- taking her high her in your hands and swooshing her mid-air while she goes yipppiieeee I’m the Super Girl! But how would she know the meaning of ‘Slip disc’? I can’t blame her. And, last but so not the least, what can I do if I like to shop and you both don’t?

However, today, being Father’s Day and all, I’ll let you hog some limelight. Since she thinks of you in a rather big way, and would take away my brownie points if I don’t wish you a happy one.  Hope you and your four year old have a good time.  And I hope to God almighty, you stop playing conniving games with me. There will come a day, when she will realise.

But for now, just for now, we’ll settle with (just for her) :

My Papa Bestest.

Happy Father’s Day. Whatever.

(My entry to  BlogAdda’s Father’s Day competition)

(Dad’s Pringoo gift.)