I like to think that I am a born nuturer. That I am one of those women who got a firm grasp of motherhood with very little effort. I hear it is quite an easy transition to motherhood for First-borns.

I have my weak moments. The times that I give the Selflessness of Motherhood a chill pill.(Like Whollupp!)

A friend gave me some nicely wrapped smoked chicken over the weekend. I got home and wrapped it in three extra nylons before throwing in the freezer. It was proper village fowl, spread like anu nchi* on a stick and properly smoked. I dunno, but I took one glance at the chicken and knew I wasn’t going to share it.

I share, I tell you. It gives me some kind of proud pleasure oftentimes sef, like when there are three boiled eggs and we are four, I just go

“Ooh, I didn’t want eggs actually”

It doesn’t matter that I have spread some butter in my bread in expectations.

Perhaps, I grew up learning that a mother’s love made her sacrifice. Perhaps, I am just happy and bellyful from the radiant look I see on their faces when I give up something of mine.

But some days, it is absolutely okay to be selfish.

Some mothers would have had this in your front, then when you ask for some they will change it for you.

“Haven’t I told you never to ask for something except you are offered?”

“Haven’t I told you, you beg too much?”

Or even an outright declaration

“If you like look at me from morning till night, I won’t give you anything”

Good woman that I am, I couldn’t bear to inflict the misery of staring on anyone.

The eagerness with which I hugged Kabiyesi goodnight was suspect, I roamed round the house waiting for every single person to fall asleep.

This happened finally at 12.30am. There was bright light in my eyes as the microwave defrosted this chicken.

Only one child, Container nwa, insisted on not sleeping.

image

I was fine with that, her longthroat doesn’t go beyond sucking bones. If it was 100Watts now, 50-50 or my peace.

It’s 1.20am.

I feel just a little bit of guilt, almost nonexistent. These things are okay, take my word for it.

I hide chocolate in my underwear bag, I hide Chewing gum in my hair dryer box, I pour my juice into small flasks, etc. If I say them all here…

I shall answer queries by the hurt parties in the morning, and when that is over, I shall still play my early morning anthem: “Sweet Mother”.

*Grasscutter meat

Advertisements