*This post has been sitting in my drafts, all lonely and forlorn, for the past three days so I decided to revive it and get it up on the blog. Editing happened, yes.*
I made coffee twice this evening. I didn’t have visitors, I am not a caffeine addict. My first mug tasted perfectly wonderful- nice slight caffeine kick since I am still getting used to drinking coffee regularly, perfect amount of sugar-free (I bid adieu to sugar during my gestational diabetes period and haven’t gone back to it) and slightly cooler than I normally drink- something I have been doing since Aarabhi started moving around the house.
After making my cuppa, I sat down with a very teething-induced fussy baby and tried to calm her down by rocking her. Since she loves her grape juice (a beverage we started giving her since she turned three months, to combat constipation) and finds the sipper soothing to her troublesome teeth, I put it in her mouth. I had a pot of milk boiling on the stove. It was on low heat and I assured myself that I would be able to finish my coffee before I had to switch it off. I was obviously wrong, stupid old me.
The minute I propped Kohl on a pillow, sipper in her mouth, the stove started sizzling- a sure-shot sign that my milk was going to overflow everywhichway. I had to rush, of course. In the confusion, I forgot that I had left my coffee around the living room area and that Kohl loves mugs, plates and every other kind of flatware there is. I am pretty sure you have already guessed what happened in those two nanoseconds I spent on rushing to the kitchen to save the poor milk. My little ninja, the eight-months old baby somehow hoisted upper body from the pillow, glided towards the coffee cup and toppled it. Needless to say, she cried the Ganges. Although the coffee was very warm to me, it probably felt piping hot to her.
She did not burn her hands or any part of her body but I washed them with cold water and a good batch of maternal tears to make sure that it did not cause her any discomfort. She finally managed a smile through her watery eyes and I was convinced that she was alright. The white Onesie she had on was ruined, of course. I put her in her bouncer (with a lot of resistance from her) and took stock of the situation.
Then I spent 30 minutes trying to control the extent of damage our carpet had endured with very little success. Ditching the useless exercise, I made another cup of coffee, with Kohl perched on my hip. I drank this lukewarm of course. I was not going to trust myself, of course! People prepare us for this crawling phase, I know, but what about the warning that children turn into ninja warriors the minute they become mobile? Why haven’t we been prepared for that time in life when the little crying, pooping baby we shot out of us a few months ago becomes an agile little centipede who moves million times faster than our thought process does?