Reflections

Sanga's whimpers wake me in the night. Maybe his sister hit him in his dreams, maybe he's cold, or hungry. Half-awake, I cover him with a quilt, put the bottle in his mouth, and just as quickly,  he goes back to sleep.

Most nights, I fall asleep just as quick. But on the bad nights, I toss and turn, the day's events unfolding like a movie in my head. I would recall the words I spoke, so candidly at the time...but in the middle of the night, they would come back to me, sinister, with doubled-meanings, and I would wonder if I hurt someone's feelings, or if I could have dealt with a certain incident more graciously.            

                                       

Sometimes I would think of all the things I should have done. Whom I should have called, what I should have said or written, at work, with friends or a relative. But I have to lie still, quadraplegic-like, or the kids would wake, and I would wait with baited breath for sleep, or morning to come rescue me.

Or more frequently, I would dwell upon my lack of social life. I would console myself, at least when I was single...I had friends! But now, it's just H and me, and the kids, and sometimes, our immediate family. Too many missed occasions, weddings, birthdays, dinners. Too many missed calls or even SMSes. And me, with too many routines, their all-important nap times, baby breakfasts, lunch, dinner and in-betweens. 

But frankly, my dear, I cannot change. Cannot forgive unmade beds, dirty floors, unwashed laundry, no matter if the old back is broken and the maids have gone. Cannot have the kids forgo their lunch or brunch or miss their naps, even if the clock will not give an extra hour to its 24. My true friends will forgive me, and wait, like me...for the kids to grow up, be big and strong, and wise beyond their years. Then we can have lunch, and dinner, shopping sprees, and travel to Timbuktu and the rest of the world.