how do you deal with that moment when you realise that the child is not you? worse, there are sides to her that you can barely recognise.
and ofcourse your mind begins to race through the people dotting the paternal landscape.
got it! he is to blame for this quirk.
she does not like her hands dirty.
my child! she pokes at clay for a minute and then wants to wash her hands. and then goes on to instruct me to get my hands dirty and model the impossible for her -a running cow if you please.
and yesterday i got out the old dupattas, loads of glue and cardboard. we snipped, and snapped everything into bits. inspired by tharini's post we decided to make valentine day gifts. the list is long, aj,s, muks, nana, nani and ofcourse papa -she wants to make one for each of you. i thought we had a long evening of doing fun things ahead of us. she was thrilled when it was time to bring out the glue. two strips later she began rubbing her hands on my clothes. by the time we reach the third strip she says, mumma lagao, main chhoti hun na.
three hearts later she was still directing me while she wiped her hands like you know who! shakespeare is lurking around.
my child? does not like to get her hands dirty???
what happens to all my plans of paper mache, clay, finger painting, etc etc etc etc
damn, i should have chosen the father with more foresight!