Baby, Baby


Recently, my wife told our soon-to-be-7 daughter that she’d celebrate her own birthday by staying in a hotel. No work, no interruptions, yes to room service, and (pointedly) without my daughter around. My daughter called her bluff immediately, “I don’t need to get nervous. You’d never do that”.

Another time my wife was talking to her friend who was building a 5 bedroom house (in the US). Instantly the kid interrupted, “Can you arrange for my birthday to be held at a villa with my friends?” Wow! So she can associate a 5 bedroom with a villa?

Guess why my daughter forced us to get her a new cycle recently? Turns out the old one was too childish (all pink), and it had a backseat which allowed her friends to hop on whenever they wanted (uninvited). #*$%!, the sneaky freeloaders who also made her lose balance at times. The new bike is a very functional looking white with no backseat.

All of which proves that she’s not a baby anymore. In fact, she is now offended if she’s called a baby: calling someone a baby is a term of insult among her friends. Until very recently, she’d want to buy princess themed items (dresses, toys etc). Not anymore. When we were picking nightdresses for her recently, she shot down the princess themed ones saying, “If my friends come home and see me in this, they’ll call me a baby”.

It’s a good thing I know this because I get to tease her by using variants of the Anushka – Salman song titled “Baby ko bass pasand hai”. Like the time when she chose vanilla as the flavor of her ice cream, I hummed, “Baby ko vanilla pasand hai”. She was not amused. Also, I know better than to tell her that the nightdress she ultimately picked is by a brand called… O’Baby.

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