That's my boy

We were playing around. As usual. First in the living room, then the balcony because the kid is getting cranky about going out. And then onto the terrace because if I can appease myself while being of use to him, why not. I like the terrace - it is spacious, and has an aesthetic about it. It is also a convenience that no one is ever around. People are too busy watching Tv and phones. Now, they even have the virus to worry about - all the more reason to drown in the search for the next dopamine hit in the digital world or the virtual world. I will leave this topic here so I can come back and rant about it properly later.

Anyways, we have done enough chilling now and Ichu wants to be back home, with his "Mohmmii..." on an urgent basis.  Yeah, sure - here to serve...

We are back on the bed and we are, as usual, just playin' around, me trying to catch up on the latest Trump tweet while pretending to be reasonably aware about his movements. And, the boy, well, any day now he will actually jump off that makeshift shelf behind the bed and break something. God forbid it to be his mothers' phone. Anything happens to "her precious" and he wound need to be pretty diplomatic to avoid the stick.

I convince him to get down in a more conservative manner for now. Then starts the routine. He is jittery and needs someone to convince him to sleep. Or some other way to drift away. His favorite, right since birth, is mothers' milk. That's where he lays low, the dude. And so we play and he does this routine where he will wander around while slowly drifting towards his mother. Obviously trying to feel the vibes, to check if she is in a good mood. 

She ain't. Not going to be an easy one, this. He tries, first time, gets a small shrug from her and he is back to me and playing around as if nothing happened. A couple more enquiries and his mom is not pleased. She has been watching Mahabharata, the 2011 version, with her headphones on, only since the last hour and needs to get in at least another hour of nail-biting and blank-staring before she can finally convince herself that the day has been worthwhile. She gets verbal now. "Go and play with your dad, he never has any interest in you", but I notice that the kid is actually not crying yet.

Nope. Today he decides to be relaxed about it. After all, I can be an influence when I set out to be one. He takes another round around me, we cuddle around for a fistfight or two, and then he slowly makes his way back to his mom's domain. She looks ready to give it to him this time. Blood will be shed.

Or so it seemed to me before he simply, without any indication whatsoever, slapped across her face with his little hand, and gave nothing away with the expressions. You can be fooled into thinking that it is just a small boy fooling around in the bed if you didn't know him well enough. He gave her one of her own there and it was clear for everyone involved to see. It wasn't a very hard slap, but it was hard enough to be heard at close range and hard enough to declare offense. 

I laughed so hard, and managed to protect the soldier, guided him back into the homeland without any major casualties despite the enemy lines being particularly treacherous. And a job well done. This battle won is enough for tonight. The war will continue but we can bask in our glory for a day or two.