बनारस - The past secret lives of shekhawat #2

Bonus

~YUVAN POV~

"Uwaaaaaaa."

My eyes snapped open to the sound of my son's crying. It was 2 AM, according to the clock, and despite the exhaustion pulling at my eyelids, I couldn't ignore the distressed cries of my six-month-old baby. Turning towards the source of the sound, I saw something that made my heart stop. Jeevika, my beloved wife, was sleeping with her arm under our baby's neck, causing him to struggle and cry.

In a swift motion, I smacked her hand away, my protective instincts kicking in. I couldn't believe she had been so careless, even if unintentionally. The audacity of my wife to kick our baby in her sleep infuriated me. It was one thing for her to kick me – I could handle that – but not our son.

"Jeevika! Damn it, get up."

I shouted, my voice laced with anger and urgency, as I picked up my little champ. He cuddled into me, his tiny chin quivering, which immediately softened my anger. I kissed his little lips, trying to soothe him.

"God, your mumma really tests my patience at night!"

I muttered to my son, who looked at me with his innocent, understanding eyes. Placing him on the bed, I watched as he spread his limbs like a starfish, giggling and sucking on his fingers. Despite the middle-of-the-night chaos, my heart swelled with love and gratitude for these moments. Life had become unimaginably beautiful with the arrival of Jeevika and our son, who now held my whole attention.

My days started with his crying, moved through his giggling, laughing, diaper changes, and daily baths, and ended with more crying. Sometimes, I felt like a male version of Jeevika, embodying her nurturing love, responsibility, and unwavering support. Being a father gave me a profound sense of purpose, love, and fulfillment.

Jeevika had faced so many challenges since her pregnancy. The hormonal changes, hair loss, stretch marks, and new curves made her self-conscious. I remember her trying everything, including onion paste, to stop her hair from falling. Sometimes, she produced so much milk that it spilled uncontrollably, soaking through tissue paper and causing her immense frustration. We consulted a doctor, who reassured us that it was normal. In my attempt to help, I would often latch onto her nipple to drink the excess milk, trying to alleviate her discomfort.

Life had taught me many lessons, and Jeevika's presence was a constant reminder that a wife needs her husband, and vice versa. I made it a point to show my love to her and our son daily. Her post-pregnancy changes didn't matter to me; my love for her was boundless, pure, and unwavering.

Despite her struggles, Jeevika's motherhood had deepened my admiration for her. She looked radiant as she cooed at our son, made him laugh, tickled him, and played with him. She managed household chores, family responsibilities, her dance academy, and most importantly, our baby and me, without a single complaint. I was determined to shower her with happiness, without expecting anything in return.

"Uuwwwww."

A small kick from my baby brought me back to the present, making me chuckle as he waved his arms.

"What does my baby want at 3 AM, huh?"

Peaceful sleep seemed elusive. First, it was my wife's kicks; now, it was my son waking up in the middle of the night.

"Jeevika?"

I called her name thrice, but she remained in deep sleep. Shaking her firmly, she flinched and blinked, concern filling her eyes as she saw us awake.

"He woke up again? Huff...you sleep, I will make him sleep," I couldn't help but fall in love with her again. Despite her exhaustion, she cared for us.

"You started kicking our son too!"