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Baby Drago’s Diary: Baby learns that eggs, not money, grow on trees

Parenting
 I tell daddy, ‘money grow in the bank' (Shutterstock)

‘Mashujaa Day’ my ‘auntie’ (nanny) Alicia was not there.

She had goned for a long off from Sunday to Tuesday.

My mummy she agree because she say Alicia she stay in Meru for so long with me and kina ntagu during ‘Locked Down.’

My Daddy him he leave on Monday to go to ‘Mashujaa Day’ in Kisii, with his friend who is wanted to be a ‘mheshimiwa’ in year twenty twent twen (202020).

Daddy’s friend he has a nice car called a ‘Benzo’ and they go with it on Monday morning.

But at least my mummy is with me on ‘Mashujaa’ Day because she is offed from job.

She has called my Aunt Philo to keep her company in the house – although mummy is watching Netflicked on her computer all of ‘Mashujaa Day.’ And Auntie Philo she is ‘chanting’ on her phone all day with her friend who is a new boy, whom she keeps calling ‘Sweets.’

Maybe he is selling a lot of sweets like Masai wa Kiosk where we buy lollipops?

My nine-year-old sister, Milan (me I’m just three-year-old boy, Baby Drago) wants to go swimming. But Mummy she tells her money is only to be found at the end of the month.

My Daddy he also like to say that ‘money does not grow on trees.’

To which I always say, a proud baby boy, ‘Money grow in the bank. But apple, mango, orange, carrot, onion and eggs and bananas they grow on the trees ...’ which makes my Daddy to laugh.

Baby Drago, me, I am smart! For example, let me ask you: ‘Where do little babies grow?’

Answer: ‘In the supermarket!’

Talking of bananas, on Mashujaa Day, I eat so many sweet little bananas (that my Daddy friend from Kisii he bringed in the boot of his Benzo the day before). Now Baby Drago cannot poo poo!

‘Ohhh,’ says my Mummy, ‘you must be confiscated.’

So after she bath me in the evening, she tries to put mafuta on my bottoms ... but I refuses.

Last time I was ‘confiscated,’ Mummy she slided something like a capsule up my bottom!

She dresses me up but says unless I agree for her to oil me down there, she will not go shop with me. I refuse – and Mommy leave me with my Aunt Philo.

When she come back from shop, Mummy has a small cake.

‘Give your baby a bite,’ I shout.

‘No cakes for babies with dry bottoms,’ my Mummy she say.

She cuts the cake in two. For her and for Aunt Philo. But I stay strong!

In the end the two of them take me by surprise, Aunt Philo pinning me down ‘kwa nguvu’ as mummy she puts capsule up my bottom, as I scream ‘Daddy, save meeee,’ but he’s in Kisii.

Shortly after that, I dash to the potty. Did I tell you, while you were away, I got toilet-trained?

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