For Ma

I take after my father. I look like him, talk like him, and think like him. I know him, because in many ways, I am him.

My mom is different. Soft-hearted, sensitive, and slightly timid. So different from my father. So different from me. I loved her - she's impossible not to love - but I did not know her.

I did not see the quiet strength that lay underneath that timid exterior. I did not understand her enormous capacity for love. I did not believe she had anything to teach me.

There was no epiphany. The realisation has been slow and gradual. Over the last 10 years, as I find out more about myself, I have begun to understand how much my mom has given me.

It is from her that I get my natural facility with language, and my flair for (melo) drama. It is from her that I get my innate trust in the goodness of other people. She calls it faith.

It is from her that I learnt that the heart can be wise too. That sometimes, backing down is a sign of strength, not weakness. That it's okay to let go, and to ask for help if you need it.

It is from her that I learnt not to be afraid to show affection. To laugh with abandon. To love with every fibre of my being.

I take after my mother. I don't look like her, talk like her, or think like her. But I know her, because in many ways, I am her.

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For Ma, on Mother's Day, and every day.
All my love, always.
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Ma, with the only person in the world she will happily let pick her beloved flowers

Splash!

Moppet and I have signed up for parent-child swim classes because:

a) we needed to do something that was different from our normal routine of eat, don't sleep, play, eat, don't sleep some more, and see if we can get mom to throw herself off the balcony.

b) apparently swimming can help with sleeping. See point a.

c) our balcony overlooks the swimming pool. See point a.

The first class was great. There were five other babies (and their moms) in our group and the instructor took us through rhymes and games designed to help the babies learn how to swim. Moppet had a wonderful time, joining in the splashing games with gusto, and jumping off the little floats into the water like she'd been doing it all her life.

I had a great time too - apart from the trauma of having to appear in all my jiggly, pear-shaped glory in front of 5 well-toned women who apparently got their babies simply by clicking their fingers and making a wish.

But it was worth it, because when we got back home, Moppet actually took an afternoon nap. For one whole hour! Bliss!

So it was with a skip in my step and a song on my lips that I arrived at the second class. This was going to be fun.

Oh boy. You know what's coming, right?

To begin with, we were early, and the group before us were still in the pool. So I spent an energetic 5 minutes flinging myself around, trying to keep Moppet from taking a running jump into the pool.

When she realised it wasn't a game, and that I was actually trying to stop her from entering the pool, she set up a howl that caused one of the babies in the pool to startle and start crying too.

Flashing an apologetic smile in response to the dirty look from the baby's mother, I grabbed Moppet and rushed outside, where we stayed until it was time for our class.

For the first 10 minutes all was well. We sang the splashing song, wiggled, kicked, and bounced around happily in the water.

And then we discovered The Shower.

The pool is set up with a little tunnel on one side. The babies swim through the tunnel and at the end there's a bright yellow button that they get to press. This causes a small spray of water to sprinkle the button-pusher's head. In theory.

In practice, the mom of the button-pusher gets a spray of water in her face.

Of course, Moppet LOVED it. She'd push the button, I'd get sprayed in the face and gasp, and she'd laugh. If I tried to move her away from the shower, she would protest with the most ear-splitting howls.

Finally, I dragged her away and put her on the float with the other well-behaved babies who were playing a sedate game of Row Your Boat. Suffice it to say that the game ended very quickly with all 6 babies in the water.

So we were banished to The Shower, where Baby Voldemort spent the rest of the class spraying me in the face and laughing like a little maniac.

For me, the only light at the end of the tunnel was her nap. It's worth it, I kept telling myself on the way back. She'll sleep for an hour. She will. She will.

She didn't.

So now I'm off to throw myself off the balcony.

Don't worry though, I'm taking swim classes :-)

My girl

I'm big on planning. I'm always planning - my day, stuff to do on the weekend, my next holiday, my life. The fact that nothing, NOTHING, in my 28 years of life has gone according to 'plan' doesn't bother me. I'm a plan-o-maton. It's what I do.

So when I found out that I was pregnant (totally not according to plan!), after the initial hysterics, I went right back to planning.

I planned to have the perfect little girl. She was going to be beautiful, gentle, sweet, and quiet. I would wander through baby sections in stores and plan her wardrobe - full of lovely frocks and pretty matching bonnets.

Ha!

Little did I know that at that very moment, The Big Guy was rummaging around in the back of His cupboard looking for that rare blueprint of the Ungirliest-Girl-in-the-History-of-the-World.

And so she arrived (by C-section, thumbing her little nose at my plans for a normal delivery), my perfect little girl. She, of the gentle ways and quiet nature.

Double Ha! Is that a chuckle I hear from up there, Big Guy?

This then, is my girl:

My girl, who is happiest running around in her baniyan-chaddi, who mopes and sulks when I put her in a dress.

My girl, whose favourite game is football, accompanied by yells of the most bloodcurdling variety.

My girl, who dives into a room full of toys, dolls, and stuffed animals, and finds the one thing that she will play with for the rest of the evening - a little white racing car.

My girl, whose favourite pastime is to (try to) lift things that are bigger than her, heavier than her, or both.

My girl, who will go the distance to join in a fight.

This then, is my girl.

And I'll let you in on a little secret - she's perfect!