Worn Out Neither of us can take it anymore. We call my mother and she arrives, bold and proud grandmother. She grabs Rehaan, puts him on the high chair and sits down in front of him. Without hesitation, she tries to feed him and at the third refusal of the little one she gets up, puts one hand on her hips and with the other she signals that that's enough. “Oh no cute pie! I do not tolerate being treated like this by you! " she exclaims, determined. Kabir and I are waiting, certain that the little Satan we created will take the spoon full of baby food and throw it on the grandmother. But no, Rehaan looks at my mother and then, obediently, puts the spoon in his mouth.
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