You know how I keep going on and on about V being a great father? He's a meanie, is what he is. The meanest meanie in the world. (That is what my then 8 yr-old cousin called him and I do believe she was bang on target. Kids sense these things.)
So The Bhablet was playing this afternoon. As is his wont, he picks up a toy in each hand and does whatever he needs to do with his hands full. He makes his way around the room hanging on to furniture by his elbows and wrists (not palms). He crawls with his hands full. He's such a grabber, really. We Bengalis have a custom of offering a baby various symbolic items (a book, earth, money, sindoor and something else I cannot remember) on a plate at the rice ceremony. The baby's choice is supposed to indicate the direction his life will take (academics, real estate, good earnings, marriage for girls etc.) The Bhablet grabbed at the entire plate. V's aunt rotated the plate so that he would be forced to let go and choose any single item instead but my son held on and refused to take any part of the whole, because he, a five month old, wanted it all. He still does.
And when he plays, he grabs something in each hand and moves around with his hands full. He falls a lot, but less than you'd think. This afternoon he was trying to hoist himself up to a stool standing between V and me. After a few tries he managed it, with a plastic car in each hand. I was proud of his dexterity, and V grinned too. But his intentions were far more evil than my simple maternal pride. The man grinned, reached down and brought up a third car and placed it on the stool. The greedy child reached out for it and had to let a car go to be able to hold the new one. The discarded car promptly rolled off down to the floor and The Bhablet had to start all over again. V had by now doubled up with laughter.
In case you were wondering, I chose the sindoor at my rice ceremony. Marriage at 23 and motherhood at 24 seems pre-set in my case.
Oh all right, I'm going to bed already. Stop nagging, y'all!