In this memory, I am five and my little brother is two. Recently, my mother is mildly troubled by the tightness in her back muscle. Instead of searching for a massage therapist nearby, which is too much luxury for her to even think of, she suggests a new evening activity for me and my brother.
After dinner and bath, my mother lies on her stomach in the second largest room of our tiny half-dilapidated apartment.
“Sweeties, you can play on my back!”
This is such a fun invitation from a mother who is mostly strict with us during the day. My brother and I jump with delight and climb on our mother’s back.
My brother likes to stand on her back, then after a while, he pretends that he has lost balance and falls on the floor.
In the meanwhile, I sit in between my mother’s legs in the back. I like sitting here because she tries to sandwich me with her two legs like a monster. When her legs come to sandwich me, I scream,
“Help! A monster is going to eat me!”
We both repeat this forever – my brother falling from our mother’s back and me screaming between her moving legs.
Finally, our mother says that’s it for tonight.
“Already?” My brother and I protest. “We want more!”
“That’s it for tonight,” she repeats as she stands up. “We can do it again tomorrow!”
Thus, the “play on Mommy’s back” becomes our favourite activity of the day.