As an agriculturalist, I’ve been gifted with skills of raising and growing quite an enviable number of beings in shades of perennials, annuals, bi-annuals, two legged, four legged and in a few cases from no-legged to reasonably legged creatures and beings. Am a raiser, it’s not bragging, it’s just who Iam. This is stuff am good at. The raising, the growing and all things nurturing.
Boom!! Comes the raising of a 3 year old daughter as a single father. It should be the simplest of tasks if your resume reads a lot like mine. The raising, the growing and stuff.
Consider: If you’ve given back life to a 30 year old hectare of Coffea species and you’ve grasped quite well the basic concepts of caring for a 200 strong herd of 300 pound beasts that bray, then certainly a 25 pound little miss sunshine shouldn’t be much of a task.
I didn’t coin the phrase, “pride comes right before a fall”. That’s why it shocks me that it’s this very stupid phrase that seems so ill bent on denying me my hard earned and well deserved father of the year accolade.
Every single father’s hope is that google will have all the working answers to the requirements and basic needs to raising a 3 year old princess.
Consider: Google says every princess should have a tiara, so I bought that; It says smoking is no good for children below the age of 70, just for her, I stopped smoking before I even tried. That’s a whopping 30 years of no nicotine I’ve lost just to put my baby in the right place; It further claims that soberness is prime when parenting…I don’t know how that ties in with being a good father but I settled for moderation.
Now, just like the father of the year I so desperately want to be, I made a few tweaks to my game. I subscribed to Quora, I consult Bing often, flipboard and Wikipedia come thrice a day and not forgetting every free app about single fatherhood the web has to offer. And those are not many. It’s judged that every single father out there must have been a jackass who treated their spouse so bad they had to leave or die and leave the baby to them. So we have to buy our apps.
Again, the trumpet I blow isn’t mine, so I’ll blow it. I’ve been numerously reviewed and envied as a great cook and it’s until Little Miss Sunshine started to eat solid foods that I started to question the honesty of my earlier reviewers. She selects her preferred food for the day and at the privilege of her own resident 5 star chef (kind reminder: yours truly) it’s prepared in the most fatherly yet professional way possible. Quarter a serving of my delicately prepared meal (of her earlier selected assortment of foods) will take time for her to push down (previously hours with threats but I’ve now got a grip on bribes, so it takes a little shorter time for her).
I’d like it to go on record that I’ve monitored Little Miss Sunshine’s feeding habits both at my parents’ and at my sister’s and I’ve come to the naked reality that her feeding has nothing to do with good food(we all prepare good food), she just prefers hers prepared by fellow women. It’s a sexist thing, totally unprofessional.
I’ve learnt lessons.
Lesson one: I used to buy beauty magazines. Then I was told e-beauty magazines and apps were the in thing, I switched to those. I know the difference between a weave and wig, great. Until 3 years ago, I thought baby jelly was indeed baby jelly. A month ago I had to return a blue ribbon baby jelly in exchange for pink. Little Miss Sunshine liked hers pink after watching “Princess and Popstar” at Sarah, my sister’s. Conclusion: these magazines and apps probably don’t work, none mentioned the connection between blue, pink, baby jelly and a healthy skin.
Lesson Two: There aint such a thing as baby dolls. They are babies too. One is Sofia and the other Miranda. These babies are routinely washed and have to be tucked in bed with Same time as Miss Sunshine,daily. I can settle for that.
Lesson Three: Little Miss Sunshine tells me she loves me often and in a way that’s the most pure and honest of ways anybody has or could ever say it, to the embarrassingly selfish, narcissistic, un-understanding douchebag that I am.
Lesson Four: Tomorrow we’ll be buying my lovely little lady new shoes. She can choose not to like them and am OK with that, she’s a princess. At the end of the long winding road of dos, don’ts, done(s) and not done(s), I know she means well and has taught me to mean so as well. She loves me, a privilege so sacred I only get it from her.
Lesson Five: There’ll always be a lesson for every year of her growth, you just have to be kin to learn.
Here’s to my amazingly awesome life tutor, the daughter worth every lesson had and everyone of those yet to come, the lovely and ever shining light of a lady…Kenneda Kuddiza Zimwe.
(Credits to the consultative manual availed to me by my parents, Cranmer and Margaret, and my Sister Sarah for the toll free consultations she gives)
A #Zimwe Creation 2015©http://#zimwe.wordpress.com/Gratitude prose/Volume I