Here am I.
Awake around 3:30 in the early morning when the cock's head is still nestled under the hen's feathers.
Abi you think that humans are the only ones that play love?

Awake at a time when Lasgidi is still trying to catch a quick 30 minutes extra nap after being woken by an alarm.

Eyes open like a Lagos conductor looking at the driver counting the monies gathered for the day.

Consciousness alert like a six years old child whose mother sent him to run to retrieve her phone from a pitch dark room.
Worse, alert like a stunch IPOB supporter that walks around a crocodile infested pool.

Countenance angry like an office manager whose advances has just been turned down by one of his workers.
Much worse, angry like a varsity lecturer who has just been told that no student bought the handout which he gave more than two weeks ago.

Woooss wobi.
I am very angry I kid you not.
And the source of my vexing is surprisingly a baby.
A baby's cry to be precise is the cause of my predicament.

The chloroquine-like kind of itch which has been peppering my body since.

The Messi-like kind of foe which has blocked my Neymar-like self from lifting the Sleep Ballon D or.

The little imp which has blocked my way with a cudgel; threatening to break my head if I dare move an inch forward towards reaching the paradise of sleep.

The Nigeria-like soldier whose slap keeps restricting my Agbero self from reaching the high plane after smoking three wraps of marijuana

Ma binu wipe mo nsoro bayi ore, Sugbon bi o n se ta mi ni mo se n soro.
I mean, I am speaking this way because I am pained massively my friend.

Just when the prospective father of Atinuke closes his eyes to sleep, 'Nyaaaaa nyaaa'

Just when bashorun's eyes dilate a little and an image of his smiling muse materializes before his eyes, 'Nyaaa Nyaaaaa'

Just when he lays his head on the pillow designed with the African map drawn by the artist saliver, Nyaaaaa nyaaaa'.

Just as he is about to kiss the bride on the wedding day in full glare of his wife's father with a facial expression that says 'I am the big daddy now', "Nyaaaaa Nyaaaaa"

Kaiiiiii.
Immediately, I jumped up again.

Eyes darting from side to side and envying the heavy sleepers around me.
For they were like Jesus: sleeping peacefully in the boat while the disciples battled an hurricane that threatened to upturn the boat

"Give am breast milk na"
I mutter under my breath.
Praying that the mother is not like that slay queen who is busy shouting on the social media that her husband owns the goods.

Praying that she is not like the mother that keeps giving cerelac to the child and made him dependent on 'omo butter' diet.

Praying that the child would realize my predicament and at least smile and sleep for poor Bashorun.

Iro o.
Nse ni omo yi yari bi oko ti ko ni breaki.
(Na so this pikin nor send like car wey nor get break)

Nse ni omo yi yari bi arewa ti okunrin kankan ko le te lorun.
(Na so this pikin nor send like babe wey we dey chyke wey no wan even reason our mata)

Nse ni omo yi yari bi gende okunrin ti ko gba wipe oyun ni ti re
(Na so this pikin remain headstrong like that boy wey dey insist say nor be im get the belle even though na im be the only mechanic wey dey service the generator wey the girl dey bring come)

Nse ni omo yi yari bi orisa ogun ti o ko lati gba ebo mi afi ori aja.
(Na so dis pikin nor gree like ogun wey dey insist say im priest must sacrifice dog head to am)

In plain lingua my friends, this baby refused all placations and kept raising the tempo of his voice.

I will not lie, I cringe at the prospect of marriage now at this point.

Now I realize that such kind of sounds removes the veil of innocence and cuteness off the child.
A veil which is at the strongest whenever that child's pictures appears on the social media.

Now I realize that these kind of sounds are sure to kill any butterfly which may be remaining in your stomach.
Causing one to wake up grumpy in the morning like that LATSMA official that wakes up daily to the realization that he has to deal with road rage drivers and drivers who go naked trying to resist arrest.

Now I realize that I would have to cut short my sweet sleep whenever that ring tone 'Nyyaaaaa' comes up;
Standing up to quickly go and rock the baby to sleep again, change a wet diaper, or perhaps place a bottle in his open mouth while my eyes rove around sleepy.
Even though the morning weather is raining cat and dogs and the body is doing 'yori yori' one kain, I would still have to race to go and answer that sound when it beckons suddenly like the rapture sound.

Anyways, eni ti o ba je oyin, ko ni beru ija agbon.
Whoever must eat honey must not fear the sting of the honey.

Beeni o.
No one said marriage was going to be an easy ride.
And even though the butterflies of love have all eaten the sense of both lovers on their wedding day, the preacher still shouts himself hoarse into the microphone.

Reminding them that the marriage bed is not always filled with roses.
Neither will 'olowo ori mi' (husband) serve the iyawo with breakfast in bed all the time to compensate for a night well spent.

Sometimes,
Just sometimes.
The alaye would just tumble off without offering the littlest appreciative gesture, but that does not mean that the love has waned.

Sometimes,
Just sometimes.
No certificates of outstanding service may be issued out to you in marriage. But that does not mean it is not a beautiful thing.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Note to mothers.
Una dey try sha o.
I shake yansh for una oo.
To dey so patient dey rock pikin to sleep no be easy somtin o.
God know say if na me be that woman at the time, I for don carry cellotape take cover the mouth of the pikin and him hands and leg.
To our mothers, UNA BE THE BEST.

At last, sleep has returned at exactly 5:31am. Baby don sleep las las.