Home / Featured / THE DADDY DIARIES (Entry 17)


“Making a child laugh is all fun and games, until they beg you to do it over and over again while you lose your freaking mind.”

I like to think I’m a pretty hands-on dad. Yes, I really love to think so. I mean, have you seen me with my son? I’m all over him like a racist bigot is all over Trump. I’m there for practically everything – his conception, his embryonic development, his birth, first meal, first word, everything. His first word was ‘daddy’. OK, that was not his first word, but he said daddy before mummy. How many fathers can boast of that?

I really did like to think that, but it all changed when I was put to the test. A six-day test which stretched me way more than I ever thought possible. If you open my curriculum vitae, I listed ‘multitasking’ as one of my strongest qualities. Little did I know that there are many levels of multitasking – easy, medium, hard, and boss level.

This was some serious boss level shit.

My wife and I have had a certain work arrangement that seemed to suit us both. It is not perfect but in a way it seems to work for now. She occasionally gets called in to carry out work for an NGO while I focus on the work I have to do. Whenever she gets called in for work, we work out a plan on how to take care of our son, pretty much on how to get a babysitter. This is where my sisters-in-law come in. God bless their souls, those ladies are angels. Even though they live in the South East, once my wife calls, they check their schedules and the less busy one travels over, stays for the required amount of days, weeks or even months. It really was a plan made in expensive heaven.

We also have a friend whose son used to go to the same school as ours. If my wife’s work is just for some few days and the hours not so bad, our friend helps pick the kids from school until we return. This was until our friend betrayed us and pulled her son out from the school. We are yet to receive our burnt offering of apology.

Anyway, so my wife got called in for work. Good pay but unfriendly hours. This was going to last for five working days and none of my sisters-in-law were available. I would have to get flexible and close work early for each day.


Piece of cake.

DAY 1:

My wife had training on this day, not expected to take long, maybe close between 12-2pm. Well that didn’t work out when by almost 3pm, she was still in training. I was pretty far away from our son, but I could make this work. Super daddy to the rescue! I picked him up around 4pm, we went home, I made lunch, and we both fell asleep watching a movie until Mummy came back. This was a piece of cake, I reasoned. I could do this for four more days.

DAY 2:

This day was also a piece of cake. There were no tantrums; he dutifully ate his meals and played around without much supervision from me. It wasn’t that bad at all. I could certainly see myself doing this all week. My super daddy alter ego was really in its element. What’s one kid to my awesome parenting skills?

My self-satisfaction was a big mistake on my part! Like a shark, my kid smelled blood, and he was going in for the kill. I never hexperient what was coming next.

DAY 3:

This was the day all hell began to break loose. This was the beginning of the end. Ragnarok!

I went to pick him up at the school and off to a shopping plaza we went. Not to buy him treats but to see some of my customers. He kept asking for Lucozade, which I bought for him. And just on cue, he threw a tantrum and smashed the drink on the ground. I was still looking at him with furious daddy-warning eyes when he pointed to Ribena. Oh no, I was not going to reward bad behavior, not in this economy.

He kept on crying, and then threw himself on the floor and was doing a cartwheel. Ladies and gentlemen, I had an acrobatic dancer for a son, e remain to do the back flip. When he cried for what felt like thirty minutes – but in reality was nothing more than a minute – I caved in and gave him the Ribena. We left the mall for the house and all was well.


Yada, yada, yada, same itinerary, work-school-work-home. He was really quiet all through the drive back home, which was odd. He is always chatty. Quietness is not his strongest quality. Heck, it is not his trait at all. We got home and I went to go fix a quick lunch for him.

“Daddy I want to pee.”

I took him to the bathroom.

“Daddy I want to drink water.”

I gave him water.

“Daddy I want to pee.”

I took him to the bathroom.

“Daddy I want to drink water.”

Are you sensing the pattern now? This spawn of mine was placing me on an infinite loop. I was in the matrix.

But I knew what to do. I filled his cup to the three-quarter mark that should fill him up and keep him busy; he couldn’t possibly finish all that.

“Daddy I want water.”

I heard that from the kitchen and sighed. I wasn’t even through with the quick lunch and this boy had me on my paces. How did he finish all that water? Which stomach did he put it in? I wasn’t going to indulge him any further. I simply collected his cup and left him crying.

I really shouldn’t have done that though, because by the time I brought his lunch, we were not on speaking terms.

What rubbish! Who is the father here? I got a-hold of him and force-fed him the noodles Yoruba style. Well, he vomited it all toddler style. It was like he had a second stomach right after his esophagus where he stored it all after I shoved the food down his throat. Then he waited, and when he noticed that victory look come on my face, out came the food. He didn’t cry. He just stood there looking at me, daring me to try that shit I did before again. We ended up having biscuits and soda.

And then, I slumped on the couch.

Oh shit! So that’s where he poured all that water!


Today was known as the day he just wouldn’t sleep. He wanted to but he fought it every second of the way. We got home at the usual time, but I had made the mistake of giving him sweets. You see, in a bid to curry his favour and set a sort of truce, I bought him loads of sweet. I figured he’d be busy with them, while I tended to some things around the house and the backlog of work-related stuff.

Super daddy failed. I made a classic rookie mistake. Never pump a kid with sugary treats. He was all over the place and I was right behind him. If I was not trying to get him off the couch, I was stopping him from pulling the electrical cords. I was trying to feed him while carrying him. He wanted to be on my back and my front, and then he was demanding for me to carry him the way Jesus was carried down from the cross. He was scattering his cloths everywhere, I was stuffing them back in the cupboard. He wanted to wear two shoes at once, I just didn’t care anymore. He kept calling for ‘daddy this’ or ‘daddy that’. I was at my wit’s end.

Then the time to sleep came and it was clear he was not going to have any of that. He was practically sleepwalking and sleep-crying. How was that even possible? How does a child have his eyes half closed and be wailing at the top of his lungs? I tried all positions possible to soothe him, until I found the one that got him quiet. And so there I was, lying face down while he lay on my back. I dare move and he cries. I believe that was the position we were in until OUR mother came back. At this stage, I was so happy to see her way more than she ever knew. I guessed this was how happy she always was to see me whenever she had to babysit. It was finally over. We were all going to be home all weekend.

That was until HIS mommy said she had to go to work on Saturday.


I had him for the whole day.

The house was a mess.

We managed to catch a quick siesta.

The house was really a mess.

It was an academic and physical exercise to get any food down his throat.

Good Lord, the house was really a huge mess.

Total annihilation!



Mother was home.

I had a well deserved rest.

Written by Anyibaba

About shakespeareanwalter

Walt Shakes(@Walt_Shakes) is an award-winning Nigerian writer, poet and veteran blogger. He is a lover of the written word. the faint whiff of nature, the flashing vista of movies, the warmth of companionship and the happy sound of laughter.

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  1. Children and their endless tantrums.

  2. At least, you have an idea! I’m still wondering which day hubby will have this experience, even if for a day. He so does not get it. You try, inu?

    P.s. I saw the sub that you hid in this article. I’m only waiting for the owner to come and carry.

  3. Chai nna, you are still our super daddy. No wonder you don’t look at the scattered toys in the sitting room wierdly when you come home.

  4. Mr X!!!!
    You have my total support biko! Terrorise em all!!

    Meanwhile, Mama Cutiful, I know say na you.

  5. I believe he resembles somborri. You pipo should enjoy ya karma. LOL

  6. Ehya. Sorry, daddy.
    I totally relate. This is my life every day. Sometimes, I just sit down in my children’s room and watch the chaos unfold. I get too tired to do anything. As I write this, my son has pulled out all the drawers where his clothes are kept and I can hear his sister telling him to take out the clothes too. Somebody is getting spanked this morning, and sadly, it’s not me.
    Kudos to all parents. No one tells you how much you’ll want to pull your hair out or shoot your brains when you have kids. But I live for those moments when I get the random, kiss, hug or snuggle from nowhere. They’re priceless.

    Well done, Anyibaba

  7. Gosh!!!! I think I need a manual!!!!! But, Anyi and NK, you guys dey try abeg. Imagine me dealing with my brood and the attendant hair pulling frustration that comes with it. Then, madam Diva decides to learn the unsavoury art of crying for hours for no reason. When that starts eh….

    You will have to teach me how to get a toddler to eat his/her food. It is easier to get iKaynna to eat than to get madam She-Who-Needs-To-Be-Shipped-To-Siberia-For-A-Day to swallow a morsel. Chai!!!!!

  8. Up you Anyi. You have more parenting skills than I do. Up X too. You’re doing a good job.

  9. Honestly, after 20 years of hard-core babysitting experience, it was just last year that I stopped judging parents.

    After I met X.

    Ifeanyi, your son taught me a valuable lesson: you can love a child, want to kill the child, love the child, want to kill yourself, and as parent, you have to pick your battles, because children no send you. Dem go do wetin dey dia mind.

  10. I can’t stop laughing! Oh God!!!

  11. Ohmigod!!! ??????????
    Lekwanu Stephen King sontin. I still want babies. With well-outlined return policies and warranties.

    • Thats the summary in one sentence o…”you can love a child, want to kill the child, love the child, want to kill yourself”! These kids know exactly how to turn us into insane people everyday!!! And the tantrums?
      How someone’s eyes can be glued shut by sleep, yet they’re throwing themselves around, and screaming at the top of their lungs in the wee hours of the night(I swear my neighbours would be crising is every night), all in an attempt to stay awake&keep “terrorizing” you, is something I can’t comprehend. I’ve given up on trying to force mine to eat (thank my lucky stars that she’s a chubby baby, so lemmi save my energy and my money???)
      I don’t know how our parents coped with having many of us. They shoulda warned us about what we were getting into!

  12. Hahahaha Lwkmd!! It’s not easy at all. Ifeanyi you dey try inugo. A bottle of coke on me lol and @Nik a bottle lucozade for. Parenting is not a joke ntol #dazzol!!!

  13. Sigh sigh sigh some more!!all ye sartians,you all saw that cute creature with me,abi?ok!that cutiful creature can make grown parents cry!!literally!!Anyibaba and mama,I double hail una! @simple..Nne,you are doing good too,cos I did check for marks on Ethan’s body,you are in the right track inugo!! ? ?

  14. Okay this knocked my socks off. Walter, I didn’t know ur blog still continued activities. I haven’t been getting notifications for months now. I have a soft spot Daddy Diaries.

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