Today was a good day.
A pretty good day. I woke up in my crib before my parents, I had the time to move around and train a bit.
So I did. I crawled around, then I got up, and even managed to do a little jump. Which is crazy progress for a baby like me.
And the day kept going well. After my parents woke up, they did their usual routine.
For a first I was cared off, I got fed and all the other essentials.
Then me and my father chilled on the couch while he was drinking from some kind of mug, as he did. He had a book in his hands, one he spread wide to make sure I could see everything well. At the same time, he spoke out, reading me the book.
A weird book indeed. One that talks about samurais, but still, a good book nontheless. He started reading me books pretty much everyday, it started two weeks ago if I remember well, when I first went into my future bedroom and had my fun looking at his written stuff.
After that? He started reading me this stuff.
Every morning. And that's something I enjoy a lot, why? My vocabulary has been shooting up since he started. I don't know if he realizes that it's weird for a kid like me to be able to understand the story he's talking about at eight months old.
But if he does believe it's weird. He's not showing it.
Today though, there's something weird happening.
While I was moving around, constantly restless because of the pain, as usual, I needed to say "Pa-pa" and shake him awake multiple times so he could continue the story.
Did that more than once.
Because more than once, he just kind of stopped to frown and stare at the door.
Which is.
VERY concerning, unfortunately, I'm a baby, and my vocabulary isn't advanced enough for me to say 'Father, why have you been staring at the door while frowning, as if you were deep in thoughts or ready to fight a war after this obligatory reading time with me?'
So I didn't said anything. And some minutes later, my father. Like most days, not all days mind you, but like most days, gave me to my mother after she finished preparing herself, cleaning herself up and everything.
And she took me.
My father left, like most days.
After giving him her goodbyes, she put me in my crib for a while. And when she came back to take me, and put me on the couch beside her to do her work, she had a good amount of clothes with her, not clothes-clothes like what I'm wearing.
But fabric. Fabric she then proceeded to work on.
She sews shit, I don't know the name of the job. But I'm pretty damn sure my mother is a sewing girl or whatever.
Housewife + sewing thingy.
Looking down at my clothes, who are pretty damn comfortable. I remember all the changes they've gone through as I grew up.
I'm pretty sure she's the source of said clothes, and changes. We seem a bit too poor to afford new clothes every months otherwise.
And my father, he...writes stuff? And then he goes outside too to do...something? I don't really know what he does, but he's pretty jacked so I guess something manual? Labor maybe?
That's not something I'll have the answer for right now though, so I took my time to crawl around and move around while my mother worked.
At first, during my first few months, she didn't really let me move much apart from in my crib, but when I learned how to crawl? She was much more accepting.
For example, after moving around the couch for a while.
She got the message, grabbed me. And put me on the ground to explore and do whatever a baby like me want to do.
Which is training.
Or sleeping.
Great life I know.
I also eat a lot but whatever.
So that's what I did, I trained, moved around, and when she wasn't looking I did a bit of meditation with the goal of restraining my weird movements.
After a bit of training she fed me, and I even ate a piece of carrot alone like a badass too.
Apart from this? Well, nothing much in this part of the day, just training.
Well, I guess there's still the funny fact that I've been walking in front of them, and they don't seem to care.
So I started jumping around, as much as I could, which isn't much. But it's better than nothing, that's what I'm working on right now.
I did this for a good amount of time before, my father came back home.
When he comes back home, usually, he rushes at me, and do some crazy amount babying.
For example he grabs me and makes me fly around like I'm some kind of plane, then I get fed again, and then we have some fun to counteract the amount of time he passed away from me.
But now?
There's someone else with my father. Just behind him, he looks pretty old, older than father, but he's mighty more frightening than my father. He have blue eyes, like my father, he's a bit shorter than him, but he's also wider and scarred compared to my father.
He have short black hair, just like my dad, and I can easily see the family resemblance.
My father looks...weird.
He still smiles when he sees me, but when he comes to pick me up from the floor, it's a bit later than usual. He didn't rushed at me.
He always rushes at me.
He just came closer, walked, and picked me up.
No plane today...?
His smile is subdued too, and he gives a look behind him.
Where my mother and the old man are shaking their hands like they're strangers.
That's a far say from the usual hug she gives to my aunt.
But...whatever I guess?
They talk a bit, I don't understand most of the words they say. But I do find myself on my mother lap, while she bumps me up and down on her thighs in rhythm.
She's focused on my hair, distracting herself as much as she can while we all sit around the dining table.
My father and my grandpa -who didn't even glanced at me one time- are talking together.
Damn...feels weird.
As I get bumped up and down my mother thighs, I try to focus on the words being exchanged.
"Should #&#" should what grandpa guy? Damn I don't like this guy, he have weird eyes.
My father answers something that was pretty much full gibberish to me.
The grandpa guy gives me a look. Urgh. I don't like him.
I look at him too, staring straight into his eyes while he stares back. "A ch&# at &# age?"
Sorry what?
My father, as if he was a kid that heard the same bullshit from his father a million time sighs. He sighs loudly and rest his forehead on his hands, mumbling something "Yes, yes, a ch$-$ &# #& age"
I can hear my mother sighing behind me too, she gives an ugly look at the grandpa but he doesn't seem to care.
The grandpa starts talking again but he gets interrupted by my mother behind me. "What &&# Kiko?"
Waaaait, I know this name! I turn back to look at my mother who's still playing with my hair. And the grandfather guy answers directly back, like real fast. As if the answer was prepared. "Kiko's dif&# she's three &#&# #&# four"
Wait Kiko is three? I always thought she was younger? Is she just retarded? Or am I overestimating kids in general?
I'm not really sure. But my mom lets out a weird mocking snort, something I never heard from her before.
The grandfather frowns a single eyebrow at her and say something I don't understand, but I didn't like the tone.
After this, he says another sentence "Put him -#- tra&#"
Before he even finishes my father straighten in his chair and say a word I understand for once.
"No."
For a while. Everyone around the table freeze.
Apart from my mother who keeps playing with my hair, my father and the grandfather guy glares at each other like they want to kill each other.
And after ten long seconds, they keep talking, and soon enough.
The grandfather leaves.
And my father grabs me to feed me some sort of stew my mom did, as if nothing happened.
What the fuck just happened?