The Counter Top


From behind the curtain, one peeping eye,
A nervous glance as footsteps pass by,
One chubby foot and then the other,
Careful not to fall in the eyes of the mother

A pink fist closed, the other in her mouth,
She giggles in excitement as she heads down south
Towards the kitchen, where the goodies lie,
Out of her reach, on the counter up high

Curly, soft hair falls on her face,
Her diaper wobbles as she quickens her pace,
But her baby feet trip, she has a nasty fall,
And her tushy is on the floor, diaper and all.

Her big, blue eyes fill with unshed tears,
She lets out a wail, hoping no one hears
The mother is in the kitchen, running around,
Pots and pans making a very loud sound

The father is in the study, his reading glasses on,
He’s been in that position since the break of dawn,
A few minutes pass, she attempts to stand,
All her baby weight falling on her tiny hand

First her tushy juts out, round and proud,
As she mutters baby curses out aloud,
Then she gets up and begins to stumble again,
Convincing herself that the goodies are worth the pain

“Mama”, she says and lets out a tiny cough,
A momentary pause, then she sets off,
Her arms outstretched, she begins to sway,
And lands on her butt again, much to her dismay

This time there’s no control, the tears have to come,
Her lower lip juts out as she nurses her injured bum
The waterfall starts, then comes the sound,
It goes on and on till she’s finally found

The mother comes first, panic clear on her face,
The father follows, aware he’s lost the race
Scooping the baby up, the mother utters words, sweet,
And places her on the counter, on her plump feet

The father acts goofy, trying to stop the baby’s tears,
But neither of their attempts has reached her tiny ears
Because the focus of her attention, one could not stop,
For her eyes and ears belonged to the goodies on the counter top
         
Reaching out she picked one, then another,
In front of the weary eyes of the worried mother
Quickly, she stuffed them in, two at a time,
And felt like she had successfully committed a crime
The mother first laughed, then the father joined in,
With a glass of milk, the baby washed off her sin
‘Oh, how easy’, she thought, to fool them both,
Tears became every baby’s weapon from that day forth.


About the authorShravya Gunipudi, a 21 year old CA and CS Final Student, wishes to combine her skills of accounting with her passion for fictional writing. It is her dream to merge her creative side with her analytical one because writing, for her, is the best form of expression that she hopes to pursue for many more years to come. [Read More]
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