So who does the child really belong to? To the couple who were actually involved it making it? To the poor woman had to carry the bugger for 9months? Or to the overbearing yet proud grandparents? I used to think that my child would be mine and to an extent my husband’s as well. Yes I say to an extent because excuse me, I carried him alone for 9months, I got swollen feet alone, I had morning sickness alone and the C-section was without doubt performed on my body only – unless I missed some episodes because I was high on the anesthetic. So yes, I used to think that I owned slightly more than my husband.
All the ideas I had about whose baby it is were part of my ignorance. You know the whole thing about ignorance being bliss or whatever, well, I believe it now. You see, in my ignorance I imagined me and hubby making all the decisions about our offspring, what they ate, what they wore and what haircut they had. I was wrong again! I was yet to discover that it really does take a village.
Right from the day TJ was born, and maybe even before, the battle lines were drawn, swords in hands and the ownership wars began. I mean right from which name we would give him. And the battle was not just between the families, even friends wanted in on the action. I am happy to say I won the “name” battle, which I believe is a blog on its own. Sadly it would be one of the very few I would win. I remember my husband warning me that there would be bigger fights about this baby and wasn’t he just on point.
Since TJ was born, the battles have not stopped. There have been countless arguments about his hairstyle, and my sister and husband have won that one – I think, unless someone orders a rematch, because I get the feeling that my mother in law is still not convinced that dreadlocks are ideal for a two year old. Then there was a day when it was announced to me that he was too old for milk formula and would, with immediate effect start drinking fresh milk. This announcement was, once again, made by my sister, who I must admit has won most of the battles. Not that I blame her, she is a second mother to TJ, and right now when I am gallivanting around the world in the name of a career, she is taking care of him.
All the ideas I had about whose baby it is were part of my ignorance. You know the whole thing about ignorance being bliss or whatever, well, I believe it now. You see, in my ignorance I imagined me and hubby making all the decisions about our offspring, what they ate, what they wore and what haircut they had. I was wrong again! I was yet to discover that it really does take a village.
Right from the day TJ was born, and maybe even before, the battle lines were drawn, swords in hands and the ownership wars began. I mean right from which name we would give him. And the battle was not just between the families, even friends wanted in on the action. I am happy to say I won the “name” battle, which I believe is a blog on its own. Sadly it would be one of the very few I would win. I remember my husband warning me that there would be bigger fights about this baby and wasn’t he just on point.
Since TJ was born, the battles have not stopped. There have been countless arguments about his hairstyle, and my sister and husband have won that one – I think, unless someone orders a rematch, because I get the feeling that my mother in law is still not convinced that dreadlocks are ideal for a two year old. Then there was a day when it was announced to me that he was too old for milk formula and would, with immediate effect start drinking fresh milk. This announcement was, once again, made by my sister, who I must admit has won most of the battles. Not that I blame her, she is a second mother to TJ, and right now when I am gallivanting around the world in the name of a career, she is taking care of him.
The famous dreadlocks!
Back to the raging wars, my mother recently decided there was no need to use diapers during the day and ordered me to buy briefs for him. I don’t want to get into it so I’ll leave her and my sister to agree. Looking back, I wonder if other than the name, I have ever really made any decisions about TJ. It reminds me of the day when a friend of mine walked in to the office and narrated how she had gotten home the previous day and found her daughter’s head clean shaven, courtesy of a loving grandmother who thought plaiting the child’s hair was torture!
I suppose that is who we are as Africans, we mind everyone else’s business because we love them and it is who we are. That is why when we were growing up we were just as afraid of our friend’s mothers as we were of our own. We believe in an extended family and for us, the saying that it takes a village really is true. What experiences have you had concerning this subject? Please share!
