When my baby was younger, I experienced something ‘strange’. Every day, at around 6 pm, she would start fussing. She’d just get restless and cry herself hoarse.
Unknown to me, what we were experiencing is called the witching hour.
The witching hour was like a hangnail. It drained all life and joy out of my first days of motherhood. I often was on the brink of tears. Exhausted like a donkey in Mwea.
At those time I felt like auctioning her off to the highest bidder. But I was sure none of you wanted a screaming beauty.
So we braved on. Everyday. It was like waiting to visit the dentist. You know what’s coming and you can’t prevent it. I got so used to it that I didn’t even notice when it stopped. But I dreaded it!
Yesterday, someone called me ‘old’.