#56 Father's Night
Saturday was on its way out. I was in my room for writing, away from the sight of the little one being put to sleep. I had to lock the room to not allow the light to pierce the darkness of the house.
I could hear the sounds from outside like every night. I don’t respond to it unless it’s a call and I am always allowed that time and space by my very cooperative and helpful family. Last night was not one of those nights.
None of the sounds demanded me but the signs of conflict were apparent. I am, by now, aware of and used to all sorts of sounds that a 2-year old makes. The kid was crying. This was the one after rejection and admonishing. This is common and not to be accorded much attention if I were to focus on the job at hand.
Also common is my patience running thin at this point of time. Every other night. The frustration of choosing to write, the guilt of choosing to overlook, and the ensuing existential crisis. All of this. But on most nights, I would overcome all of this in a couple of minutes and peace would be restored. But last night was not like the most nights.
I was in the middle of my post and I was thinking of completing and publishing it.
I chose to respond to the crying which I didn’t think was a call.
I went out and adhering to our rules of co-sleeping, I took my place in the vacant portion of the bed, at a distance which was not intervening in the kid’s space.
You don’t get to him unless he asks for it and since he was crying and rolling all along, there wasn’t much space for me to occupy. I did where I could.
In a sudden unexpected move, he put his head just below the pit of my neck and rest of his body along the rest of my body. He was in a good position to hear my heart beat. He seemed quiet. I wasn’t.
I could see his eyes wide open. I was relieved that he was quiet now. I have understood that kids are expert at changing gears. They can cry at will and stop at will on most days, even in their sleep. I was okay with him being awake and quiet.
But I was also struck by his rare serene demeanour. He turned. I think he saw the benefit in transferring the body to the bed. Now he was placed on me as if he were a kid looking for sleep head-down on a desk in a class full of other such kids in similar positions.
My blank computer screen was flashing before my eyes. I couldn’t get up. I did not want to.
On any other night, like any previous night, I would have made an effort to put him to sleep with his head on my shoulder and my arms around his legs. Not last night.
I let him be. I let him make the moves. I was just a witness to what he was doing. I was static like a rock on the seashore. I didn’t feel like letting go of a single moment of this. I could easily do if I were to count my breath. I was alive to every beat of my heart. It was like I was getting into meditative sleep.
It must be middle of the night when my eyes opened next. The kid was asleep on my arm.
I didn’t publish last night and unlike other nights, I wasn’t thinking about it. Last night was like none of the earlier nights. It was a father’s night.