Chez Moi

Took this pic last week at Blackpool. It was rather glum and all of a sudden, the clouds shifted and this clear shaft of light broke through. Amazing!

The past weekend was a veritable treat for my little man - we decided to take a weekend break along with his favourite cousin. From what we could see, they both loved it.

At first P was a bit flummoxed by the name - he thought it meant a pool of some sort and urged me to pack his swimming trunks and not forget his swimming goggles so he ‘can see under water’. No amount of explaining helped so we let him run with it.

When we ended up at the Pleasure Beach amusement park, the name caused another bit of consternation as he thought we were taking him to the beach! He wasn’t very pleased to realise that the beach was still so near yet so far away. But a typical adrenaline junkie, he went on as many rides as his lack of height would allow.
On Sunday, we went atop the Blackpool Tower and he amazed us both by not displaying an iota of fear when faced with the ‘Walk of Faith’ challenge. It is this expanse of glass in embedded in the balcony 360 feet above ground and one can see straight down as it is clear glass! I thought I was brave to stand here; he sat down and tried to peer as much as possible into the distance!

We polished the day off with a donkey ride on the beach. Riding a donkey named Betty, P was thrilled to bits! He now wants me to print the pic I top of his astride Betty so he could show off to his mates!

Look at my brave li’l boy - peering down at nothing! We went to Blackpool last weekend and this pic was taken atop the Blackpool Tower. This is the famous Walk of Faith where there is nothing but clear glass underneath your feet. You’ve got to remember at this point, one is at a height of 300+ metres! Totally unfazed, P sat quite comfortably on the glass and peered down below.

My son is five years old and ever since he was 2.5, I have been getting subtle digs from the MIL’s side that have gradually become stronger over the years - about her looking after her grandson without me hovering in the background, cluttering up the picture. Before you ask, yes I have left him in her care during the day, in order to acqueise to her hankering, whilst I have taken care of some odd jobs nearby. So what is the problem? Well, she wants to keep him overnight. This is where I draw the line.

A day and a night away from my son is not something I like to contemplate. Truth be told, it is the stuff my nightmares are made of. I lose my temper, I shout but I have to bind him good night and take him to bed; in the morning, I want to be there when he wakes up and comes searching for me. It still takes a while for him to shake off the sleep and the minutes he still lies on my shoulder, holding on to the last vestiges of sleep are too precious for me to let go of, even for a day.

It took me a while to form a bond with him - though I loved him to bits from the minute I set my eyes on him, it was a while before we both relaxed into our respective roles. In fact, as he becomes older, I find we get along better. And I am loathe to test this hard-won bond with my boy by letting him away for a whole day and a night. That is the second part of my nightmare - if I let him go once, he would go away and would not be my little baby who comes crying for his mummy every morning anymore.

I know I have to let go but not yet. He is just five - I want to baby him for some more years yet. Already, he shows signs of growing out of his babyhood by changing his routine - increasingly, he takes himself to bed and acts like a big boy. There will come a day when he can take care of himself but until that day, I want to enjoy every single moment. And yes, that means not letting him stay overnight away from me for a few more years.

My mum let me and brother go off to our father’s native village with assorted aunts, uncles and grandparents from the time we were four - I cannot imagine sending Pratik off like that! Maybe one day, when he is 12 or 13, maybe, certainly not when he is 5 or 6!

I know S thinks I should relax a bit but he is my only baby and I am not ready to spend a night away from him yet.

Am I being a bit too clingy?

S and I were watching this programme on the telly Wednesday night, just a moving background to the monotonous DIY work we were doing at that moment. The programme was called ‘How To Look Good Naked’ and involved a nervy, newish mum, not really comfy with her body shape and as such, not very confident. How the gay presenter got over her fears and ultimately, made her enough confident within herself that she sashayed down the catwalk in her pink matching bra and pants.

Now, as an Indian watching the show, there were many, many points during this that I gasped and squirmed. At the end of the programme, I was left with this question: how is parading semi-naked in front of millions a fitting test of confidence? I am not saying it takes immense guts to do so but why the hell is that even a requisite to ooze confidence? This is where the show left me flummoxed. Seemed to me, it was a drastic way to prove that someone is the epitome of confidence.

I had always thought that I was a fairly confident soul, capable of speaking my mind and generally able to get me from one day to another without greatly injuring myself. But no way on earth would I ever do any of that the woman did on the show last night. For starters, she had to see herself in the mirror, clad only in her undergarments (do you see a recurring theme here?) - why the heck would I do that on national TV? Confidence or not, is unnecessary. WHY would I parade my bloated, saggy self to the whole of Great Britain to choke over their dinner?

Before you go on the ‘Ohmigosh, she’s a prude’, let me stop you right there. I ain’t no prude but I firmly draw the line at going through the following things - shivering like a leaf in my undies, having a bloke (gay or not) poke and prod me in various places to show me what I’ve got, baring my ‘bedroom secrets’ to the whole world and its wife and to top it all, have the bloke helpfully slot some boob uplightment device inside my bra. No, no, no, N-O!

Forgive me for being so boring / naive, if I was suffering from some serious body issues post baby (who am I kidding? that’s a permanent state of mind where I am concerned!) I’d rather work on it by doing something - anything - else. Join the gym (which the woman did, after the bloke chose some hip track suits), sign up for some mummy-toddler club, get a personal shopper to help buy clothes that fit you, rope in your mates to give you some quality, non-mumsy time…. anything other than having to pose about in the buff. Drastic, methinks.

I went through some crippling bouts of depression, post-baby (and the MIL visit!) that wasn’t helped by the fact that I didn’t have any decent friend or family around me to prop me up. So I slowly confined myself to the four walls of our house, wearing some absolute eye-sores and generally feeling sorry for myself. Had I been home, surrounded by friends and family (which this woman no doubt was), I would have been dragged willy-nilly out into the Big Bad World and made to face it. I don’t know why this woman’s friends and family were standing around, wringing their hands, in a rather helpless fashion. What the hell was the hubby doing anyways? Why wasn’t he wooing the daylights of his wife till she felt sexy again?

If you think ranting about a bit of an undie show is a bit much, even for me, the best was yet to come. The once shaky now yummy mummy posed in the buff (’the shots will be extremely tasteful’) prior to walking down the ramp wearing nothing but her undergarments. And her mum and mate in the audience went ‘ooh! she is soo confident!’

Good grief!

I felt like banging my head at this point. We talk about women’s lib, suffragette and Girl Power and then say parading about half-naked on national telly epitomises confidence. Maybe I am a prude, after all. A prude tightly holding on to her clothes.