By Anandam Ravi
“Oh, isn’t she adooorable?” people
gush when they see my 15-month-old daughter. And
well they might, for sure enough; she has big, black
eyes that could melt the heart of a cabbage and a
smile that could charm the boots of an Eskimo in
winter. And it’s a good thing she does too, because
otherwise she would have been arrested for attempted
theft and vandalism a long time ago.
A trip to the local grocery store
starts out tamely enough, my daughter sitting on the
trolley-basket, with only a few minor skirmishes as
to the degree of damage she is allowed to inflict on
the pack of cereal she is gnawing. The real fun
starts at the only open checkout counter where we
find ourselves behind a lady who appears to have
volunteered to host a couple of football teams,
spectators and all. As we wait at the hopelessly
narrow aisle, my daughter amuses herself by pulling
out a half-dozen magazines from the racks. I put
them back firmly and assume my most severe
expression.
“And how are you today?” the young
girl with the bright red hair at the counter
inquires of me pleasantly when we finally reach her.
I start to reply with an equally bright smile as I
rapidly empty the contents of my trolley on the
counter. All of a sudden I feel my smile freeze on
my lips as I turn back to see why my angelic
daughter is so quiet and notice what she is perusing
with such concentration--a magazine with a blonde,
buxom nude on the cover. I hesitate for a minute,
trying to decide whether to feign sudden blindness
or raise the alarm that there is a strange infant in
my trolley. I settle for declaring in the most
dignified voice I can muster under the circumstances
as I replace the offending tabloid, “I don’t think
we really need this.”
As I prepare to leave with the
rest of my pride intact, the redhead stops me with a
chatty “And how about the candy in her mouth,
Ma’am?” A glance at my daughter’s mouth reveals
irrefutable evidence of the allegation and I wearily
pay the cashier for it. She looks at me with all the
amusement of one who has just witnessed the complete
mortification of a fellow human being.
A visit to the library where we
attend weekly story-reading sessions is also quite
eventful. I look around for other restless
youngsters who can probably keep my daughter
company. No such luck. Every child six months and
above is sitting quietly in his or her stroller or
seat and listening intently to how Rosalie the
Rabbit disciplined the large brood of baby bunnies
that she had with Harry the Hare. Or was it Herman?
I’m not sure because I am too busy scampering after
my daughter who has taken it into her head that the
last two bookshelves in the toddler section are
badly in need of rearranging.
At home, one presumes that the
bathroom cabinet poses no danger as the cleaning
fluids are locked up and the medicines are out of
her reach. Not so. I came out of the kitchen one
afternoon to find her making a generous gift of some
sanitary napkins to an acutely embarrassed male
visitor. She also apparently believes that she is
the Madonna of the toddler world and performs her
Throw the Diaper act with the ease and grace of a
stage veteran. This act consists of plucking at the
diaper till one end is loose. She then wiggles
gracefully out of the said diaper and with a
movement that is slightly reminiscent of Magic
Johnson’s technique turns and hurls the diaper into
her playpen. Fortunately though, and I suppose I
should be eternally grateful for this, she has never
performed this little act in front of a live
external audience.
I can only hope that all this is
only a temporary phase that she’s going through.
Otherwise, I don’t know what to do other than go
back for some advice to Rosalie the Rabbit and Harry
the Hare. Or Herman.
About the Author: I am an
Indian stay-at-home mom and wannabe writer, in that
order (for now. I can be contacted at Ravi_anandam@hotmail.com |
