– 7:20 pm

How many times have you heard this before? “I just dropped you off at your grandparents“. Well, I just did. But this time, I picked up some meds for your mother, from her mother. Liza’s currently stretched out on the sofa with what seems to be stomach flu. It’s been ongoing since last night. We’re unsure of the cause. She says her entire body aches, much like I feel after playing football this morning.

Speaking of football, there were quite a few injuries today. One of my teammates, Marcus – I call him Aurelius – had to go to A&E with what seems to be a fractured shoulder blade from a challenge and heavy landing. It was a fair 50/50 challenge. But that’s just football. It’s a contact sport. And injuries are part of the game, sadly. The rains this time of year and the resulting poor grounds don’t help though, not with tackles flying in like they typically do. I still get flashbacks from my injury and play with so much care slightly differently now. I have to be sensible now. It’s just not worth it.

Yesterday made you fifteen months old. In typical fashion, my dad sent his best wishes to you and Liza. To mark the occasion, we didn’t just get the customary Crosstown doughnuts, but we got you to try a few flavours this time.

Gosh! Time is flying by, and you with it. It’s been a pleasure raising and watching you grow, discovering yourself, and the world. And the joy for us is, we get to see and reimagine things from your perspective. You’re learning so much (mostly thanks to your grandparents grandmother) and your personality is evolving at the speed of new-age tech and AI. You’re currently pointing at things you want (including the ones that could kill you) and saying, ‘Naie’ to those you don’t.

When it’s the latter, I try as much as possible to respect your wishes, especially if it’s food. But I learned that the hard way because when forced, you just throw it on the floor anyway. For the former, I try to find substitutes. It doesn’t always work because you throw a tantrum when things get taken away from you. So my efforts lie in not letting you reach them in the first place. But there are more things than there are places to stow them away. So it doesn’t always work and sometimes we get the deep waterworks and screams, like an African mother mourning her child.

There was a phase when you seemed to have discovered you had a tongue. You wouldn’t put it away. It was out for about a week. I’ve learned with kids you, impossible is nothing. I fully get that now (and where Adidas are coming from).

Seemingly out of nowhere, you’ve cultivated the habit of closing every door, cabinet or drawer. Nothing can be left open or ajar. No, no, no sir. Not in this house. Not around here. If it swings, it’ll swing shut. It doesn’t matter who’s trying to pull out plates or get things out of the washing machine. It feels like you’re saying, “Sorry but you should’ve done this way sooner. Perhaps when I was asleep. Too bad I have to slam this door in your face now. Remember, you made me do this. This is your fault”. We try not to take offence.

I don’t know what it is with switches, plugs and sockets. Maybe you’ll tell me when you’re older. But that’s your thing now. Every floor heater has been switched off. The upside is we’re saving on energy bills. It’s not all gloom.

Earlier today, you pulled the Dyson plug from the wall socket, fiddling with it like you normally do. Except today was the day you managed to get it back into the socket. When you did, you took a moment to look up at me and applaud yourself. I applauded with you. Molodets!

We cook a lot at both houses. And it fascinates you. People huddling in the kitchen, the sound of chopping or sizzling pans get you to drop everything and stomp towards the kitchen. At the first adult, you’d raise your sad face and hands, requesting to be picked up and shown the action. I even let you stir the pot now. You’re happy to play a part in making your own food.

It’s either that or you’re happy to play chef in a corner stirring your pot. We’d walk by and pretend to taste the food you feed us. I think your grandad started this game. It’s still ongoing.

We’ve had to give you the much dreaded Calpol the last couple of nights so I wonder how well you sleep tonight. We checked your gums and it’s literally full of teeth bursting through your gums, bleeding at times. Julia and Liza took you to the dentist the other day. The feedback was that brushing is no longer a joke. You have great dentition and so to ensure things stay that way, we have to brush them. You my friend have more than four toothbrushes between both houses. We need at least a couple per session, one for you to play around with while we do the actual cleaning.

As you can imagine, it’s not the easiest thing to do at your age. I’ve seen Liza try successfully in front of a mirror. I’ll stick to the changing mat. I have no clue how your grandparents are managing this. You’re not weak. Au contraire, you have Obelix-like strength.

Remember you had a tongue-tie? Well, the dentist also found something similar between your two front upper teeth. They said it could lead to speech impediments, a gap between your teeth etc etc. But Liza had a second opinion and her dentist said doing anything about now is premature and unnecessarily invasive. It’s not a straightforward procedure and one that requires anaesthetics and aftercare, unlike the tongue tie which was over in seconds. In short, we’re doing nothing, for now.

Manu is calling me… I’ll message him later. I’m going to check on your mum to see how she’s doing. She’s in bed now.