FATHER A bRaw Ham

“Father Abraham, Had many sons,

Many sons had Father Abraham…”

Byron sings along, in words that only his 6 year old brain can decipher. He is not really singing but he’s way better than I am. And the fact that his baby voice can double mine in decibels gives him the upper tone…sorry, hand… in our random singing duel. A duet would have been much better but with the way this boy always turns everything into a competition, the likelihood of a collabo between the two of us is anywhere between zero and nil.

“But why do you always have to do this?” I ask, feigning surprise.

“Because,’ he chuckles,”…you barely sing in the shower! Even the water cannot stand your voice.”

“He can’t stand his voice either B!” Shouts Tiffany from the kitchen.

“Holy smokes! Tiffany is that you? How on earth did you get in?” I retort, legibly surprised.

She had left for the hospital earlier on leaving the two of us unattended. We must have been too preoccupied honing our (rather my) bellowing skills to notice her tiptoeing into the kitchen like the creep she is.

“Same way the guts to sing get into you boo!” she shoots back with a full mouth. Byron can barely contain his laughter.

“Shots fired!” he shouts, holding his stomach while letting out the most annoying laughter any human can possibly muster. Besides being as smart and witty as his aunt, this rascal has perfected the art of annoying me to Serbia and back.

“Did you seriously use the same mouth that hogs my food to tell me that?” I shout back.

“What do you think; Father Abraham?” weird pause. She’s probably swallowing a couple of obscene words alongside a slice of ham. Ham that she never used to like but can’t get enough of it now. Cravings galore.

We never use curse words around this boy. Not only because that’s not how to act around a kid, but he might go use the words on his mother and I’ll have to explain to my Nazi sister why her son used the B word on her. “Nick! Imagine B called me a B!” Yes! That’s definitely how she’d commence an hour long lecture.

“I think you are choking on your words Tiff. That’s what I think”

“What would you rather I be choking on?” she’s not one to go down without a fight.

“Cease fire!” I shout, trying to contain the looming perversion of food that was bound to ensue.

“Okay Father Abraham! We need to talk. Now.” Comes a light yet heavily curt reply. It’s got to be serious.

“Hey buddy, let me go help Aunty I the kitchen. I’ll be right back”

“Sure thing bro.” he shrugs me off, visibly disappointed that we were done with our duel even before we hit the chorus.

“I am not your brother young man!”

Within the 5.6 seconds it takes my long strides to get me to the kitchen, I have analyzed all possible reasons as to why she’d want to talk to me with such urgency. Tiff is not one to interrupt me, more so not when I am with the boy(s). I haven’t been upto mischief of late, and that gives me some comfort. Minimal but will suffice for now.

“Talk to me cherry” I coo, almost whispering. The kitchen reeks of cheese and tension. She’s disturbingly calm. This has to be the calm before the storm. Oh snap!

“You know I have been unwell for a while now, no?

“Sure thing boo. The nausea and migraines?”

“Yes. Those and a little bit more.” She sips water and lets it down her throat noisily. “So today I visited the doc for a checkup…” weird pause.

This time round she’s not censoring profanities. She’s just setting the stage before she drops the bomb. I hate it when she does that. It gets me really anxious and she know it.

“The test came positive.” She drops it.

“What test?” comes my question, a tad too loud.

“The pregnancy test.”

Silence.

Am I Ready to be a Father?

I have always wanted a kid. Badly so. But ever since my sister was gifted with Byron, I got skeptical having seen her go through hoops and loops with that little annoying human. I have personally spent sleepless nights rocking Lil’ Terrorist to sleep just so his mom can get some sleep since Byron’s male ‘cofounder’ decided he wants nothing to do with the fruits of his labor. Actually, my sister’s labor! His doesn’t count.

So having my own Lil’ Terrorist scares me. Being a father scares me. I am not even sure I am ready to wear the Father badge.

Imagine mini me

The thought is appalling. I can barely handle myself and now I have to handle an improved version of me? Double trouble this!

I cannot share my gadgets! And if there’s anything Byron has taught me is the fact that no matter the resemblance of what a kid has to what anyone else has, they’ll always want what’s not theirs.

Tiffany’s sarcasm and wit bundled into another human bearing a fair share of mine too is not my idea of a “bundle of joy”. That’s more like a bundle of jitters! You never know what to expect.

Absentee Father?

Well, that’s not an option. I was male enough to lie down and lay pipe, so now I’ll get up and man up. Time to wear my big-boy boots!

I shall not let mini me grow in my absence. I have to be around to annoy the chubbiness out of him. Or not. I am already skinny for two.

Having seen my sister and friends go through the toughest of times bringing up children as both mum and dad, I have no intention whatsoever of letting Tiff carry the cross alone.

Well, she’ll have to carry the baby alone but that’s just it. Oh, and the hormonal changes too. You know, the whole pregnancy shebang!

So What Now?

“Does that mean I am going to be a father?” I ask in so confused a tone it makes her laugh.

“No silly! That makes you a fore man. Because well, you came ‘fore the child”

“Pun intended?”

“Heavily so!” she smirks.

“Guess who else will be heavy in 6 months? “ I marinate the lame joke.

“The shade of blue downtown?” Mind blown!

“I cannot do this anymore.” I surrender.

“You should while you still can, Tiger,” she shoots back, walking towards me.

“So now you are into the Woods? Or is it the other way round?” Go down without a fight? Can’t be me.

“Boy bye! Please leave, Father A bRaw Ham.” she winks at me.

And so I do, hitting my head against the kitchen door.

It is then that I wake up, sit up in bed and thank God dreams don’t come true unless you actually work towards it.
That was a terribly thrilling dream!

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