For the longest time, I was resistant to all things babies. Never thought I’d be a mum and good mum at that. What I loved were cats and a whole lot of animals. I grew up surrounded by animals. You name it, we had them – dogs, cats, rabbits, budgies, fish, white mice, hamsters. I finally ended up with 2 lovely ginger cats – Fats and Hobbes. Fats; where do you begin with that intelligent, loving, extremely independent feline? She could wee in the toilet, open doors with her paws, get off furniture slyly when you were around and curl up at your feet on the bed. For the longest time it was just the two of us till my mum insisted I take Hobbes, a skittish little boy, in. They were my children whom I relished love, care and more love on till I met my gorgeous husband and my life made a 180 degree change. Having children with this most beautiful of men was what I wanted (beautiful in all aspects, especially his soul). Little Zadie was a gift. But my LO was the third in line and I only knew for the longest time how to communicate with felines. At 5 weeks, Little Zadie had a little crying fit – nothing calmed her, not a diaper change, not boobees, not cuddling or rocking. I was alone, no husband, no help around. In desperation, I pleaded for her to calm down, to relax, to settle with the usual parental, “Sshhhsssshhh…” repeated in a droning pattern of sorts followed by “It’s ok Fats, sshhhhsshhh….”
Every now and then, the name creeps into my head just before I open my mouth to calm my LO and have to do a quick check. I do hope little Zadie doesn’t grow up with the name ‘Fats’ imprinted in her memory.
I’ve got to introduce them one day soon. But that’s another blog another day.