The Small Ones

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The day I woke up, I realised that my life had just gone forward a thousand years. It seemed as if only a single week had passed since I had graduated, a couple of days since I had got married and just yesterday my kids were born. When I had held them after the delivery, my hand had cuddled them for hours and now they lay beside me on the same bed. A boy of seven and a girl of three. Their small hands and feet were innocent and calm but a mere hours away they would be flailing and wrecking havoc in the house. My boy well there was not even a single day that went by without him dissecting a toy. Leave him alone with a small truck of his and then it’s parts wound up in weird places. One day my girl accidentally swallowed something and when she purged it along with her lasagna then we found out that she was choking on one of the fingers of her doll which had just been under the knife of her brother. The next day when she found out that her Little Mermaid had been debated into a pile of plastic and red hair, she did not cry. Totally unexpected. But after becoming a parent, nothing much surprises you. My girl is a bit cunning and I fear that she may not wind up in one of the mafias or something. The vengeful girl embarked on her path of revenge. One night I woke up to my boy crying and shivering. What I found out was that his sister had glued the Mermaid back together and slipped it’s hand up and down his back and kept whispering, “Now it your turn. Now it’s your turn.” Their relationship was one of a kind, sweet and sour, calm and tepid, silent and chaotic. I enjoyed the few moments I had left with their sweetness. As I moved their eyes flew open and the mischief sparkled in their eyes and all hell was lose in their minds.

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