My Pudd’ng, mama is here to stay, I promise

Our daughter had somehow gotten used to her mother coming and going, and I have a feeling that she was starting to believe this was the new normal.

Meanwhile, I had been telling myself that I would tell her what happened, what’s happening, and what will happen.

There’s a difference between telling myself that I’ll tell Pudd’ng, and actually telling her. Words are my livelihood, yet I found myself totally lacking the right words. I knew that while I was dillydallying, Pudd’ng was like, I guess, any child, joining her own dots. I would have loved to read Pudd’ng’s mind. To hear her internal dialogues and debates. I’m glad I’m not a mind-reader, because I might have been shocked.  

Revolving door of friends

Children are not like adults who can carry grudges to use as pillows in their camphor caskets. Some Sundays when we’re going home after church, Pudd’ng will confess, “Do you know that friend of mine? Today she refused to speak to me; she’s not my friend anymore.”

The next Sunday they will be friends again. Which means? Whenever Pudd’ng tells me she has “unfriended” some girl, I don’t sweat it. I give her a Sunday, and the next one, they will be on BFF basis. To children, friendship is a revolving door, and baby girl can’t bang hers in any girl’s face.

Mama MIA

The night Tenderoni returned home, I started humming singer Mase’ song, Welcome Back. Pudd’ng was sprawled on her usual spot on the floor in front of the TV. She looked up and shot her mama one question, “What took you so long?”

Man, I looked at her like, “Girl, are you writing a script, or what’s with that one-liner?”

That aside, later in the evening, Pudd’ng said something profound, which made me realise that we had to have the conversation I have been dreading for the past 172 days. The talk about the whys and wherefores. 

“Mama?” Pudd’ng said sweetly. “I don’t want you to go until December.”

“Mama is not going nowhere,” I corrected baby girl.

Deep down, I knew it was hard talk time. Or else. See? She’d already joined her “Mama MIA” dots. Shame.

Pudd’ng has seen how I treat Tenderoni. With love and respect, throughout the whole separation period. I’ve never bad-mouthed her mama. I’ve tried to be the standup guy, which can be tough, especially at tough times like this.

When we’re doing our shopping, Pudd’ng is the handywoman. She picks the items and reads expiry dates and prices. To show her we’re still family, I’ll say, when we’re in the “sweet tooth aisle”, “Now, let’s pick something for mama”.

Each morning before we rush out, prayer is a must. It is part of breakfast. We pray for leaders – political and spiritual, families, matatu crews, our hopes, road users… and mama.

Kids internalise what they see. Me? I had a solid ground to stand on when I told Pudd’ng things. I didn’t even have to preach; she’s seen daddy walking. She knows I’m good people.

Touching talk

Three nights after Tenderoni returned home, I told Pudd’ng to switch off the TV. This was it. If I did not do it now, I would never do it.

“There’s something I want to talk about,” I said, looking directly at Pudd’ng, who was wondering what this was all about.

“You know the way you tell me that sometimes you drop your friends, then the next Sunday you’re BFFs again?”

I got her attention. She nodded. Thinking I was going to church with this. Still, I could tell, from her confused look that she was wondering which pew I was going to.

“When you meet, say the girlfriend we met in the supermarket… what’s her name? You had dropped her as a friend in church, yes? Yet you still talked and laughed with her in the supermarket. Even grownups are like that. Mama is my best friend, and …”

She nodded. Smiled. She knows she can take dad’s word to the IMF and get Kenya aid. She knows I’ll never hate on her mama. (Never tell your kids you’re their mama’s BFF if you’re an abuser. You’ll get them confused. Get some help. Pretty damn quick).

Long touching talk short? I told Pudd’ng that sometimes grownups hurt their friendships, and, because I knew she would think this, I told her mama was not going anywhere. Ever.

Phew. That was my longest three-and-a-half minutes.