By Peter Max
Before Junior’s arrival, I was at the centre of Myra’s universe; the apple of her eye. We had a great life together and did things a married couple is expected to do. Then the tables were turned. Junior came calling and all of a sudden I seem like a stranger in my own house.
Although the doctor had predicted such a scenario, I was trying to block it from my mind. After all, the warning was issued more than a year ago.
“Max, you will be jealous all the time that Myra and baby bond. Your position at the home will seem threatened. That will be normal,” he said.
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I’m an African male and on top of the food chain, at least in my house. Junior, on the other hand, should be at the bottom of it. This, dear friends, is the chain that the tiny fellow has broken. The doctor called it normal. I call it high treason.
Those of you who have read the holy books do know of the line ‘what God has yoked together, no man shall put apart’. Junior has crossed this line. He has and continues to take more than his fair share of Myra.
I need an egg, but baby must feed first. I need some warm water for a bath, but Junior also needs to bath. I need some rest, but baby needs to...
I’m running out of options. If I whine, then I am a wimp, a weak creature. That is a tag I am not prepared to carry. And so, like my fellow fathers, I shall suffer in silence. I will not bother Myra with my ‘mundane’ issues. After all, she has just given birth and I’m supposed to be the all supportive dude. Could somebody please read me my rights?