Firsts

The Very Very First Time…

I don’t know but some of the times I stray. No! Its my mind that strays and wanders into a lonely world. Or is it place? While there, I stay on (and start to enjoy being there) and think of babies. I know it sounds girl_ish. Like the way girls would think about babies and think and plan baby showers and fantasize about their lives as mothers etcetera. But myself I think of babies as innocent angels.

On this day I am a boy, perhaps just some hours old. I am possibly just from suckling my mother’s boob. The very first suckle of my life. I am full as those people Christ fed with five loaves of bread and two fish. See I have just touched my first boob (hehe) the world is waiting virgin with life for me. So I lay there facing up the roof. I am mild as a lamb. I can’t even kick in the air. Why would you conclude thus I would harm a fly. Wait, do I even know what the hell a fly is? Do i? It’s my freaking first lie (this one here means you resting on your back not the other one damn) here.

It is weird but I think of the day mum and dad thought of me. And went ahead to conceive me. By the way, did that debate pitching the church verses others over when does life commence (conception or Birth) ever end? Someone from the church in here?
My conclusion is stuck in between making up my mind on when exactly was my first day of life. Was it on that day above when mama and papa thought of bringing forth a boy? And they made good if it. And they said it was a good night. Or was it after nine months when mum slipped into labor and bore me? It is confusing right?
That a side. I have just taken my first lie, heavenly refreshing. I have suckled the very first time. I can’t comprehend if it was sweet or not. I have just touched my first boob. It means nothing. Life is waiting. The world is watching, waiting for me full of prejudice sadly! They may not like my skin color. They will be called racists. They may want I be a little bit taller never minding as to whether am happy in my height. They might not like how I walk. They might say I stagger and squawk like a duck. Blind to the fact that it is my only first walk. The first one might be novel and devoid of swag but on and on, I will walk more and get stronger and pick some swag. They might like it or might not like it as well.
Life is unfolding. I am in the hands of my very first teacher_ mother. I am basically living her mind. I know not of anything on my own until she says. “Take a poo here”. “Come baby pick these stuff, place them over there”. “Don’t pee on your shorts”. “It’s bad to tell an adult stupid”. “What of a fellow baby mummy?” “Its equally as bad!” Over and over she will read her rule book of do’s and don’ts and I will pick her mind. It will be for me gospel truth. I will not question for I know not another way rather than hers.
Mama will be the first teacher. She will be the first friend; a confidant of the sorts. She will nurture, and care and reprimand and comfort. Back at her mind she will be cork sure that the world too is waiting with its lessons, and opportunities and heartbreaks and fulfillments and girlfriends. She will be like the biblical john preparing the way for the forthcoming messiah, laying it bare and devoid of obstacles-bringing the reality home. What some chaps write sijui the cocks coming home to roost.
Remember the first sleep. The first kick. The first pee. The first poo. The first day seating on your own without support. The first day managing to leave the bed without anyone’s support. The first crawl on your fours (palms down and legs folded at knees height) the first word. The first time trying to walk by yourself supported by stuff in the house. Then that magical day, boom you can stand. Wait, not just stand but put a leg ahead of the other then the other then the other then off! Good bye mum. I got find new friends. The innocence.

Mum might be, yes, happy that for once and very first time you are able to be on your own _ responsibility. But internally there exists for the very first time, the detachment. She is feeling you let go of her. She is seeing you make new friends. Leave the house more. Pick more from the world than her _ lost control.
Here comes the world, then enters responsibility at a time now when you have to invoke a piece of your brain somewhat. Then boom! Life happens (TIME magazine writes Boooooooooooooom! I think they got more time) First day at school. First day at church. First day in a mistake. First trip at school. First friend in school. First exam. First success. First failure. First promotion to a new class. First graduation. First grade at school. First day in high school. First day say, as a boarder. First closing of school. First girlfriend. First heart break. First day in college. First day at work. First boss. First coin. First day out. First job loss etcetera.

There is how the first time feels. As a child, it only flaps past your eyes. Your memory is numb. The record is faint _ If anything, our firsts as kids is a culmination of what has been retold to us over time and space; a recollection of a kind. As we hit the age of realization, our firsts pick a taste. They feel and taste of a memory to keep. Good or bad. That moment you are pregnant with expectations.

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