A mama moment

I went to preschool with my kid at 10.30 am. I left at 11.00 pm. In the space of 30 minutes my confidence in myself as a good mom, and in my kid as a normal healthy happy baby was ripped to shreds. 

I came home convinced that my kid was a naughty, restless, stupid child and that I had let him turn into a hooligan. All the other kids were talking, colouring, interacting with the teachers while my wild child was ignoring everyone and hiding in my lap. Yes, he doesn't speak much, barring a few words. Yes he doesn't know how to colour, he likes reading instead. Yes he ignores the teachers, and if I'm not in the room, he howls. Yes, he is the one who 'hasn't settled yet'. 

I came home depressed, angry and took it out on my son who had no idea what he had done wrong. There were slaps and tears. I was pissed off at everyone and myself the most. 

Then my mama called me. 

She told me that two of my sisters had trouble adjusting as well. That being a mother, there will be times when my child will be judged by others, and that I have to be the one helping him stand, not knocking him down because of my insecurity of 'what will people think'. She said that my son is a normal, healthy, happy baby and at I should never doubt him or myself. She told me my son is a blessing from God, since my hubs and I thought we couldnt have kids. She told me I'm a good mother. 

I needed to hear that so much. And when it comes from a woman who has raised four daughters, and three grandchildren. Who has raised me. She is the best of me. If I am half the mother my mama is, I will be happy. 

Love you mama. 

Karachis yummy mummies (or how we never EVER leave high school)

I went and blew up Rs 5000 in Mango yesterday. With the current devaluation of the Pakistani rupee, that's like around 50 dollars. 50 dollars for a t shirt and tights. Is the tshirt punk and awesome? Oh good God yes. Are the tights cool? Duh. What gets my goat is that I didn't buy it because I wanted to, I bought the clothes so I wouldn't look like a maasi (Urdu word for maid) at my kid's preschool.

In Karachi, darlings, when one sends ones kids off to school, one must dress, y'know, to show all the other families that we come from a 'khata-peeta khandann' (literal translation being an eating and drinking household, which usually implies a decent upper middle class family with tons of dough and connections). No slouching through the gates in your pjs, bloodshot eyes begging the teacher to take your kid off you ASAP so you can go drown yourself in the nearest vat of coffee. Everyone comes with blow dried hair, crisp ironed shalwar kameez or sexy sultry gym gear, matching chapals (sandals), huge ass bag and damn me if their iPhone doesn't have a matching cover to go with the ensemble. 

In stark contrast, I went to preschool with my toddler in tow while wearing cropped black culottes, a t shirt which had a cat smoking a cigarette on the front, white slippers, and a ragtag Thai shoulder bag. Go me! And yea it wasn't the whole hippy I'm-so-above-this-and-therefore-awesome thing going on, it was the the-hell-with-this-my-brain-needs-caffeine attitude. First impressions: I don't even want to think about it. 

It felt remarkably like the first day in high school (0 and A levels). All the cool girls lounging around with their designer glasses perched perkily on their heads, either chatting away with their BFFs (how lucky that their kids go to school together so they can hang out with each other and not other, less desirable kids), or languidly typing away at their phones, planning their brunches at Xanders and Espresso while the kids are in school. Then there were the mummies who were frazzled beyond belief with other children waiting to be dropped and/or picked up, the women who were brisk and to the point. No casual chit chat for these women, their minds were already focused on the next item in their  never-ending to-do list. Finally, the mummies who were just coming out of new mummy exile, the exile where your new baby is the center of your life, but at the same time makes you very much aware that thanks to the little one, you don't have a life anyway. Those mummies who are excited about the free time they will have after their little ones go to school, but at the same time are so scared for their kids that free time is mostly spent biting nails and debating whether calling up auntie whoever for the fifteenth time to ensure their little ludoo is ok is overkill. Yes it is. And yes, I do it too.

So getting back to the point. Perhaps it's the uber cool preschool my kid is in which is causing this sudden rash of insecurity. Perhaps, its the insecurities of the geeky me i though i had left in high school. Why should I care whether or not I'm dressed in the appropriate manner. As long as I'm decent and not vulgar and as long as my kid is dressed neatly, it should be absolutely fine. Unfortunately, it isn't.

This is Defence, Karachi. Where appearances and the done thing is sacrament. One is always presentable, and trained to the social niceties from the age of 1. Where who you hang out with and who you are is more important than your character. Do I care whether im a social pariah? Not really. I've been myself and that's what's important. However, it does affect my kid. It's shallow and hateful and really really insecure of me, but I don't want my son to be affected because his lazy mama couldn't be bothered to go and hang with the other mummies. No play dates, no invitations to parties equals one very lonely kid. And that will not do. Not at all.

Hence the shopping at Mango, I don't want him to be lonely coz his peers' mummies think I'm not good enough, and therefore my kid isn't good enough. Beat them? Not likely. Join them? I can't compete on their level. Decently dressed friendly acquaintance? Perhaps. Time to play kissy face with the yummiest mummies of Karachi. 

Before and after whore.

I am a before and after slut. 

Ok, that sounded so.....nasty. And stupid? 

Anyhoos, love it, love it, love it. I love the whole concept of it. Whether it be about losing weight, getting a makeover, getting a life, getting the most fuck-awesome living space or, on a less ditzy note, getting out of the rut and becoming awesome, I love it all. It gives you hope that there is something which can be done to improve anything, anyone, and anywhere. 

What not to wear? Awesome. Tim Gunns show about makeovers? Delicious. All those interior design shows where they rip apart a boring blah house/room/apartment/car/caravan and make it unbefuckinglievable? I'm there, I'm sooooo there. 

So why is it that we can't do it ourselves. We get off on seeing these amazing transformations, whether in a show, a movie, a book and we lap it up, but when it comes time to do it in real life, it's seems so bloody difficult, nay, impossible to do so. 

The easiest answer would be that in real life, with real people problems, just getting through the day is tough enough, let alone trying to improve it. That's an easy and stupid way out. What's the point of your life if all you're doing is just existing. I've been there, and I still am. I whine and complain and compare my life, my appearance, my clothes, my job to everyone else's, but I can't be bothered to actually do something about it. 

Well, fuck that. 

I'm going to do it. I'm going to do that damned Arabic course which I've been talking about for YEARS and never did shit all about. I'm ordering the damn bed so that I can stop complaining about our current one. I'm going to bloody well get my facial hair removed before people think my sons monkey is coming to pick him up from nursery. 

Ok, that last bit was something which didn't need to be said. 

Wish me luck.