Me, mummy!

BY SHERYL DIXIT

Iheard one of my favourite songs on the radio, one that I hadn’t heard in a long, long time. It brought back memories of psychedelic lights flashing over vigorously gyrating bodies on the dance floor in some obscure nightclub of my youth. It made me sing - loudly and tunelessly, much to the despair of my two sons.

“Do you want to sing on The Voice,” asked my younger one.

“I think I’d be better off in The Noise,” I replied.

“Yes, you’d win!” said my older one, tongue-in-cheek and straightfaced.

I gave him my raised eyebrow look, guaranteed to quell any sign of juvenile rebellion, and he returned my look with disarming innocence. The little one laughed outright, compelling me to join him. In a couple of seconds we were all encased in a bout of soulhealing mirth.

They’re getting good, I thought!

As we approach another Mother’s Day, I realise with a heightening awareness that I really enjoy my kids. They can be a right pain at times, but the sheer quirkiness of their personalities at just 7 and 5 are a joy to behold. They are funny and happy, baffling in their logic and uncomplicated in their affection. They are no different from the hundreds of children who are the product of a reasonably happy and close-knit family.

All mothers know what’s expected of them when they take on the responsibility of having children, and for the most part, they deal with this complete tilt to their ‘normal’ lives with a mixture of affection and pragmatism. Quite simply, they do their best for their kids according to their lights. And for some, those lights shine brighter than most.

I have to reluctantly admit that I’ve been there and done that. Motherhood added another, more overwhelming dimension to my life, and I think I lost myself in that aura of involvement, which can suddenly be akin to slavery.

I spent the first few years of motherhood being pretty much absorbed with my kids. They were my focus and my life, I knew the words of every song that Hi Five sang, and would win any quiz on Postman Pat hands down. I felt I knew everything about them, and indeed, I wanted to know everything about them. I wanted to be an integral part of their lives, and often felt indignant and annoyed that other mums had what I thought was a more cavalier attitude towards their kids. I was, what my friends would cheerfully label, a ‘paranoid’ mum.

But now as they get older, I’ve learned to breathe more and let go even more. The school-going experience opened up hitherto unknown vistas of revelation for me, when I could actually listen to a complete album of Alan Parsons without having to compromise by watching the Lazy Song (enactments and all) for the rest of the day. Between the hours of 9am and 3pm, I can think about articles to write and write them, get the shopping done within half an hour, talk on the phone without interruptions….

Of course, after 3pm, all hell breaks loose! But it’s a small price to pay for those hours of reconnecting with myself, that lady who was lost somewhere in the mire of nappy-changes, feeds, teething issues and the trauma of the terrible twos. I’m no longer paranoid to leave them with their dad on a Saturday evening as I catch up for a meal with other like-minded mums. And it is this very bunch of easy-going, live and let’s live mums who have brought around that gradual and, if I have to be honest, somewhat reluctant change of attitude. Yes, I do have a few of the normal fears and apprehensions, but I’m becoming my own person again. And I’m enjoying the experience.

I feel like I’ve grown up as much as my two boys since those green days of motherhood where everything was perceived as a challenge, simply because motherhood in itself seemed like a challenge. But now, as they grow into distinct individuals in their own right, I feel less inclined to lead them on the straight and narrow. Rather, the occasional nudge when they step off the path seems to work better for them. And this philosophy, I now know, is practiced way more than it is preached.

Almost all the mums I know, the ones with attentive or indifferent partners, the single ones, the gutsy grandmas who live with their kids and uncomplainingly take on the responsibility of bringing up their grandkids, the grandmums who are carers, mums with adopted kids, same-sex mums – all have this amazing ability to be themselves in spite of being mothers. And although motherhood is believed to be a state of ‘selflessness’, isn’t it nice to have a bit of one’s ‘self’ back? Yes, we all have our bad hair days and experience the zombie syndrome that comes from lack of sleep, but for the most, they’re very well adjusted with themselves. Almost all take time out to sneak back into their pre-mum days, even if it means pushing a pram with a sleeping child through a mall for a couple of hours while they window shop for clothes…for themselves. They get their nails done, visit the hairdresser, lounge in the local library, take power naps during the day – they give a true meaning to the concept of ‘me time’. To me, this attitude is revolutionary, given my somewhat narrow perception of what a mum should be, that I harboured until not so long ago. A strange attitude indeed, as my own mum had a near-perfect balance between us kids, a job and a hectic home and social life back in India.

Rock on, mums!

So to all you mums out there, on this Mother’s Day, enjoy the excess of affection that’s bound to come your way. But on the next available date, take time out to catch up with your friends, have a coffee together, go out to dinner, get a bottle of white at the pub down the road – and celebrate yourself, the person you were and still are, under the ‘mummy’ avatar.