THE JOY OF PARENTHOOD
Michael Femi Ewetuga
I love children and there is no doubt in my mind that I love them to death and will not
think twice to replace my life with that of a child in danger.
Watching a child grow is the joy of parenthood, developing right before your eyes from
the time you saw him in his cot at the hospital, if he was had there, watching him sleep
at night and sharing his pains when he cries without the ability to inform you what the
problem really is.
I love looking at a sleeping baby. There seems to be some kind of peace when a child
sleeps unaware of his environment, of the evil man is capable of, of the fact that a
demented mind could blow him into pieces for something as stupid as who is right or
wrong about the way God ought to be worshipped.
You can feel how fragile he feels when you carry him, so tender, made me want to kiss
mine all the time. At that early stage he seems to sleep all through the day, sometimes
you feel like waking him up so you can play with him but you know better, you know he
deserves his rest after such a long journey, one of the longest journey he will ever
embark on in his life.
Just imagine people getting exasperated after 12 hours, 14 hours flight and imagine
what it will be like on a 9 months journey. One of the things I so much admire women
for is their patience in taking that trip with their children even when it is so
uncomfortable, nausea, vomiting and all. I see the umbilical cord like the hand of a
mother holding that of her child encouraging him to just keep moving, assuring him that
it will soon be over.
Then the cry when something is wrong, crying with all his powers as if he is angry,
angry with the world or perhaps with the parents for dragging him into this cold world,
after all the warmth in the belly this world is of course so cold, he just has no idea how
cold it could really be. Then the contentment on coming in contact with food, breasts or
artificial milk, if the source of such mighty outrage happens to be food.
I hated hearing my kids cry when they were babies, I usually shout for their mom to
check and see what their problems were. Men, aren’t we so clueless? The women
eventually seem to come to terms with babies’ cries and so take their time sometimes
to give them attention, I found that extremely unacceptable. I remember shouting for her
to come and check on one of the kids when he was a baby and she said “let him cry, I’m
busy here in the kitchen” I wanted to put an instant end to the activities in the kitchen,
which I did because I believe the baby’s needs were more important, we all can starve
to death for all I care, he must be made comfortable first.
Then you watch him grow from that tiny baby, you see him put some weight on, you
perceive the metamorphosis. You watch as he is arranged for the 41 days picture, if you
are into such practice, I was.
Then you watch him sitting and falling. I wonder how many bumps children get in their
heads at the formative period of their lives. You put pillow beside him to cushion the
effect of the fall, sometimes the fall is away from the area covered by the pillow, a fall
hard enough for you to hear the impact of his head with the hard floor. I used to feel that
to my very bones, at that time you feel like hurting someone but then life is in stages.
You watch him sitting bent forward trying to grab the toys you put in front of him so he
can learn to crawl, he grabs the toys after several attempts and then try sitting back
upright then the side to side movement and the thud before you could help him and
thereafter the cries and the tears if it was really painful.
He overcomes sitting, but the process continues, it’s about time to crawl. I remember
asking that a particular baby that was older than my son be brought into my apartment
so my son could watch him crawl. Eventually he gets really better at crawling then
comes the time to stand.
You watch him stand and subsequently walk, memories that money cannot buy. Taking
one step at a time and then falling down, sometimes crying out of sheer frustration.
There’s tremendous joy in helping him overcome that obstacle of not being able to
move his legs by holding his hand and walking with him or stretching your hands so he
can walk up to you.
You watch your child grow before your eyes and become just like you, walking, talking,
eating, crying, thinking, eventually not only walking but running, not only talking but
questioning.
Then you watch him grow to a stage where he can take in information and you watch
him struggle with his figures and alphabets. You watch him paying serious attention to
things that are now easy for you, you see him trying to draw rather than write the first
letter of the alphabet.
He is woken up early in the morning, bathed and dressed, you watch him eat his
breakfasts and carry his lunch on his way to school, helping him map out his future. You
just can’t help hugging him when he comes to tell you goodbye on his way to school.
You look to see if everything was in place, buttons still there and not on the field
somewhere when he went playing during breaks at the school. You look in his bag to
see if he still had his pencils and books. You help him tuck his shirt in properly. You
watch a part of you actively living. You smile at him and he smiles back, he waves his
little hand on his way to school. It took him time to go to school without crying, without
wanting to stay back with you. He has made his own friends and is now enjoying his
peers company.
You wonder how he will turn out. Is he going to take after you or will he channel a life
different from yours. Is he going to be responsible or is he going to break your heart and
make you regret having him, is he going to make you proud or is he going to be the
source of your sorrow as life flies by? Are you going to be proud enough to hold him out
before the world?
A father who misses out on these processes missed out on his child’s formation and it
is not something a caring father finds funny. Circumstances tear parents and children
apart sometimes and it is only the uninitiated that feels you’re living without them. When
you see little kids going on the road say a prayer for yours, even if you do not believe in
prayers and in God you find yourself asking God to please spare and watch over them
You hug them in your spirit every time you think of them and a tiny smile dances across
your lips when you remember the funny things they do. You wonder how it’s going to be
when eventually you meet them and they are no longer boys but young men.
This article is dedicated to parents who are separated from their children due to
circumstances.
Michael Femi Ewetuga
I love children and there is no doubt in my mind that I love them to death and will not
think twice to replace my life with that of a child in danger.
Watching a child grow is the joy of parenthood, developing right before your eyes from
the time you saw him in his cot at the hospital, if he was had there, watching him sleep
at night and sharing his pains when he cries without the ability to inform you what the
problem really is.
I love looking at a sleeping baby. There seems to be some kind of peace when a child
sleeps unaware of his environment, of the evil man is capable of, of the fact that a
demented mind could blow him into pieces for something as stupid as who is right or
wrong about the way God ought to be worshipped.
You can feel how fragile he feels when you carry him, so tender, made me want to kiss
mine all the time. At that early stage he seems to sleep all through the day, sometimes
you feel like waking him up so you can play with him but you know better, you know he
deserves his rest after such a long journey, one of the longest journey he will ever
embark on in his life.
Just imagine people getting exasperated after 12 hours, 14 hours flight and imagine
what it will be like on a 9 months journey. One of the things I so much admire women
for is their patience in taking that trip with their children even when it is so
uncomfortable, nausea, vomiting and all. I see the umbilical cord like the hand of a
mother holding that of her child encouraging him to just keep moving, assuring him that
it will soon be over.
Then the cry when something is wrong, crying with all his powers as if he is angry,
angry with the world or perhaps with the parents for dragging him into this cold world,
after all the warmth in the belly this world is of course so cold, he just has no idea how
cold it could really be. Then the contentment on coming in contact with food, breasts or
artificial milk, if the source of such mighty outrage happens to be food.
I hated hearing my kids cry when they were babies, I usually shout for their mom to
check and see what their problems were. Men, aren’t we so clueless? The women
eventually seem to come to terms with babies’ cries and so take their time sometimes
to give them attention, I found that extremely unacceptable. I remember shouting for her
to come and check on one of the kids when he was a baby and she said “let him cry, I’m
busy here in the kitchen” I wanted to put an instant end to the activities in the kitchen,
which I did because I believe the baby’s needs were more important, we all can starve
to death for all I care, he must be made comfortable first.
Then you watch him grow from that tiny baby, you see him put some weight on, you
perceive the metamorphosis. You watch as he is arranged for the 41 days picture, if you
are into such practice, I was.
Then you watch him sitting and falling. I wonder how many bumps children get in their
heads at the formative period of their lives. You put pillow beside him to cushion the
effect of the fall, sometimes the fall is away from the area covered by the pillow, a fall
hard enough for you to hear the impact of his head with the hard floor. I used to feel that
to my very bones, at that time you feel like hurting someone but then life is in stages.
You watch him sitting bent forward trying to grab the toys you put in front of him so he
can learn to crawl, he grabs the toys after several attempts and then try sitting back
upright then the side to side movement and the thud before you could help him and
thereafter the cries and the tears if it was really painful.
He overcomes sitting, but the process continues, it’s about time to crawl. I remember
asking that a particular baby that was older than my son be brought into my apartment
so my son could watch him crawl. Eventually he gets really better at crawling then
comes the time to stand.
You watch him stand and subsequently walk, memories that money cannot buy. Taking
one step at a time and then falling down, sometimes crying out of sheer frustration.
There’s tremendous joy in helping him overcome that obstacle of not being able to
move his legs by holding his hand and walking with him or stretching your hands so he
can walk up to you.
You watch your child grow before your eyes and become just like you, walking, talking,
eating, crying, thinking, eventually not only walking but running, not only talking but
questioning.
Then you watch him grow to a stage where he can take in information and you watch
him struggle with his figures and alphabets. You watch him paying serious attention to
things that are now easy for you, you see him trying to draw rather than write the first
letter of the alphabet.
He is woken up early in the morning, bathed and dressed, you watch him eat his
breakfasts and carry his lunch on his way to school, helping him map out his future. You
just can’t help hugging him when he comes to tell you goodbye on his way to school.
You look to see if everything was in place, buttons still there and not on the field
somewhere when he went playing during breaks at the school. You look in his bag to
see if he still had his pencils and books. You help him tuck his shirt in properly. You
watch a part of you actively living. You smile at him and he smiles back, he waves his
little hand on his way to school. It took him time to go to school without crying, without
wanting to stay back with you. He has made his own friends and is now enjoying his
peers company.
You wonder how he will turn out. Is he going to take after you or will he channel a life
different from yours. Is he going to be responsible or is he going to break your heart and
make you regret having him, is he going to make you proud or is he going to be the
source of your sorrow as life flies by? Are you going to be proud enough to hold him out
before the world?
A father who misses out on these processes missed out on his child’s formation and it
is not something a caring father finds funny. Circumstances tear parents and children
apart sometimes and it is only the uninitiated that feels you’re living without them. When
you see little kids going on the road say a prayer for yours, even if you do not believe in
prayers and in God you find yourself asking God to please spare and watch over them
You hug them in your spirit every time you think of them and a tiny smile dances across
your lips when you remember the funny things they do. You wonder how it’s going to be
when eventually you meet them and they are no longer boys but young men.
This article is dedicated to parents who are separated from their children due to
circumstances.
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