Playing apart


It had been a week.

Both boys had been forced to play apart for the past week. This was Z playing peekaboo with X at a safety distance enforced by us.

Initially, Z had been distraught that we refused to let him go near X. He was such a sweet and loving brother. On our end, we really missed outsourcing the babysitting duties to Z. I missed the times when I would cook dinner and Mr H would pack both boys’ bags, Z and X would play together.

I was also tired of the no-hug-no-kiss rule. Z included.

Z had been a daddy’s boy while X’d been closer to me. That was probably why we fell sick together and had to be separated. Z and I became a tag team while Mr H and X were a tag team. Z wanted Mr H to play cars with him while X wanted me to carry him. It was quite a funny situation.

Z had been rather emotional about the change and even whined in a bid to get more attention. It took him a while to understand the situation, so much so that he would ask me if X had touched any toys and if it was safe to venture ahead.

Meanwhile, X had showed visible signs of mental development. He could pay attention to our conversations and laugh or frown as deemed fit. When asked about pushing a certain red toy car under the sofa, X shook his head. Z proclaimed, it was X! X frowned at Z and shook his head vehemently. Only when Mr H added on that he witnessed the act did X turned around in avoidance. It looked like we would have a “it wasn’t me!” stint soon.

X also chuckled and giggled more these days when he knew he had been up to no good – like tugging at my stuffs and getting a “nooooo” reaction from me.

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