Parent #2

Blessing Aribisala

Betty’s half asleep. She stirs and tucks her arm in, under her blanket. She’s a really pretty five-year-old. Sweet like her mom, with curly hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. I stare at her and so does her baby brother, Roy. But for different reasons. He stares at her hair beads with consuming desire and crawls towards her, his tiny feet causing the sheets to crease in a pile. I wait till he is within reach then pull him back by his ankle. This has been going on all afternoon. He squirms and whines for the pure torture of not being able to tug at those beads. They are so attractive. With blue and purple and yellow and green and pink and orange.
           I have them for the afternoon until their mom gets back. I am tired of restraining Roy. It’s 12.45 p.m. and I cannot wait for him to grow weary and sleep. His mom says he naps three times before supper. 11 a.m., 2 p.m., and again at 4.30 p.m. I wonder how she knows things like that. 
          Betty is deeply asleep now. The rice pudding must have made her heavy. Roy is immersed in playing with the Noah’s Ark I gave him. I feel sorry for the dribble-covered sheep.  Since I have nothing to do, or rather, since Roy won’t let me do much, I keep staring at her. We are countries, cities, and towns away from where I call home, and I am worried she may never know where she’s from; and never learn about our culture and the things I did as a child. I want to raise her, just like my mama raised me. But there’s much disparity between here and home. Yet I want Betty to have the best of both worlds. Isn’t that what parenting is about?
         The time is 2.15 p.m. Roy is asleep now. I place him in his Moses basket and praise my wife’s precision. She’s the backbone of us all. Parent #1. She’s not worried like I am. She says the kids will turn out well because it doesn’t matter where home is, as long as we are all together. She’s a wise woman, my Diane. I momentarily quit my worries and focus on prepping dinner because Roy will awaken soon and recommence his spirited aspiration of yanking Betty’s beads.