“Teenage life is not fun. This isn’t fair, mum. You don’t have to go to school, no peer pressure to cope with, no complexes regarding your appearance. In short, no worries! Oh, nothing, indeed!”

My mother smiled slightly as I gave the long speech I had to go to a party that day, and I had spent ages on deciding an outfit that would be suitable, the result being that I didn’t come up with one single dress. It was plain frustrating!

Tired after I returned from the party, I flopped down on my bed, thinking. The party had been awesome — worth all the hours I spent on getting ready. But, life would’ve been easier without all the tedious tasks that preceded the party. Like mum’s is, I thought with a twinge of envy. Turning on my side, I went to sleep.

That night I dreamt about fairies flying in the sky. One of them suddenly approached me, her light brown eyes popped wide open and screamed, “Mum!”

My eyes snapped open to unfamiliar surroundings while my ears registered two voices nearby. Disoriented, I rolled back, trying to make sense of the puzzling situation. I saw a cute, cuddly boy of about six, with black hair and brown eyes and a girl of about four, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair hovering near my bedside. They both opened their mouths simultaneously to speak.

“Mum, dad’s already gone. We tried to wake you up, but you just wouldn’t,” said the boy.

“Mum, I’m hungry. Gimme breakfast!” the girl said.

I climbed out of bed, dimly aware that these two children were calling me ‘Mum’.

Huh, why? Oh, that’s so obvious; I must be their …

“Mum! I’m hungry,” the little girl yelled.

“WHAT?” I shrieked. “You’re calling me...?” I left the sentence incomplete.

The children — my children — looked at each other nervously. “Mum, what’s wrong?” the boy asked. The first word out of his mouth confirmed my worst suspicions, leaving me in a daze. I was their mother somehow.

“Nothing,” I said to them. “You guys go to the kitchen. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I went in the bathroom, slipped into a dress and looked in the mirror. I had grown older… What is this? For heaven’s sake, I had two kids now. When did I even get married?

I went down the stairs. The house was nicely furnished, but the mess was unbelievable. Toys, paints and colours were strewn across the entire lounge. A laptop and a TV sat on a table covered with dust. Books, magazines and newspapers were crammed haphazardly in the shelf. Clothes — dirty and clean alike — were draped across the sofas.

I made breakfast as quickly as I could, cleaning the kitchen as I cooked. The kids jabbered and bickered the whole time and though my ears hurt, I smiled at their hilarious chatter.

When I put toast, omelette, jam, butter and milk on the table, the little boy refused to eat anything. “You know I hate all this stuff. I want cereal.”

I had checked the box of cereal earlier and it was empty. I felt instantly worried.

“Honey, if you’ll eat this, I’ll buy you an ice-cream. How about it?”

“Really?” he perked up and in the next second, was stuffing his face with the stuff he hated.

My day passed, in the similar fashion. I cleaned the messy house, did the laundry, hung clothes in the wardrobe, cooked meals and, of course, looked after the kids. I persuaded and lectured, I smiled and patted, I listened and laughed, and I bribed and threatened. And even then the kids would find something to be upset about. And, crazily, each time they would, I became anxious to cheer them up and every time they did, I felt ecstatic.

Incredible! Must be a mother thing!

On the stroke of nine, I had the kids in bed and I read a story to them. That finished, I trudged up to my room, plopped down on the bed and welcomed sleep warmly.

I sensed a movement in the room and opened my eyes. Must be the maid, I thought and closed my eyes again. I vaguely realised that the room looked pretty familiar to me and that the person coming toward me walked with a light step, just like my …

“Mum!” I shouted and jumped out of bed. The sun was beaming through the window…

“My room!” I shouted again. My mum watched me concernedly, then said mildly, “All right, darling?”

“Oh, mum, I love you so much. I... I,” I began stuttering in my haste to get the words out, “won’t ever say that you don’t have any worries. I am so…”

“Honey, are you okay?” she interrupted.

“I’m fine. Perfect. In fact, I feel wonderful. I’m 14. I’m a teenager. I have no kids or a house to manage. I have my whole life ahead of me, filled with possibilities. I’m great! I’m free!” I breathed, my eyes sparkling. Then, without warning, I leapt on the bed and yelled, “Teenage rocks!”

In the other part of the house, my brother, Abdullah yelled, “Sure, sure.”

My mum shook her head and smiled. But this time, I understood why!

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 30th, 2015