Cool as a cat

In defense of imperfection

Lately there has been a lot of lack of perfection around. And I have cheerfully managed to make a comfortable place for it in life, hoping to make smiling acquaintances with it, if not best buddies. And so it came and hit me smack in the face when the last two weeks, now that I look back at them, turned out to be a ruthless search for perfection, badgering perceived shortcomings into guilty submission.

As a friend embarks upon the search for a life partner, the demand for the 'perfect' partner overwhelms my senses. Just as the desire for a perfect body, especially now that we are going swimming. Or the pressure for the baby to sit up/crawl/roll by a certain age. Not to mention, the cooking, cleaning, and keeping a smiling, painted face, ever ready for guests to inspect/comment on.

Why can't we just be? And let others be? Why is it not enough to have a good-enough partner, and not a perfect one? Why is it not enough to have a normal, happy baby, and not a super one? Why is it so difficult to settle for good and not the best?

Rant over. Off to enjoy my imperfect but happy time with N.

Another first

My first birthday as a mum. Hmmmm. The thoughts in my head are as follows:

1. Don't feel very much mum-like

2. Wish I could sleep some more, actually a lot more

3. Can't get over his smile - he is one hell of a charmer

4. The house was cleaned 4 hours ago and it again looks like it was hit by a hurricane

5. How on earth do other parents keep their houses clean?

6. I am hungry

7. There is so much work to do...

8. I think I will sleep

9. Can't sleep, he is up - must entertain him now

10. Come to think of it, I feel very much like a doting, exhausted, trying-to-multi-task-but-failing-miserably mum

Circle of life

What is it about old friends that makes you smile and melt a little inside? Especially the ones you spent your teens with, the ones who share your secret of the first crush, the first heartbreak, the first half-baked plans for life, the little beginnings of the journey of discovering who you are and what all you can become. Those friends remain in the heart always, despite the cold distance of adulthood and the self-centeredness of grown-up life.

So when one of them writes to you, remembering your birthday, or the silly laughs you had in the girls toilet, or the promises you made never ever to lose touch, it plays like a magical game of the heart before your eyes. One such dear, dear friend of the lovely years of life in school wrote today about wanting to see N, about slowly getting used to the idea of being called aunty, and about the hope that the children could now be friends and continue the circle of life. And I can't stop smiling at this miracle called friendship that transcends time, distance and all kinds of differences.

May special friends bring you moments of pure happiness and the circle of life go on and on.

Why...

...is it acceptable to say that you are not a baby/children person, but not to say that you are not a dog/pet/animal person?

And why is it nearly uncool to have children? What's with this unmentioned, unspoken of idea that if you are educated, successful and intelligent, you will, almost by default, choose not to have a baby? Why is a heartwarming welcome extended to a dog when it enters the train but a silent, disapproving turn of the head for a baby? Why do people pretend that they can't see a ready-to-pop pregnant lady standing before them - are we seriously lacking even the basic semblance of compassion towards fellow humans?

How ironic, that the proponents of liberty, of choice, are often the ones who snub others' right to choose their own path. Sometimes, all that is needed is to focus on minding one's own business and quit making value judgements about others, their lives and their decisions.

Escape to paradise

It is one thing reading about something, entirely another seeing and experiencing it.

Travel guides and websites describe Snowdonia as a beautiful escape. It is that, and much more. We have just returned from a lovely, long, luxurious break at the gorgeous national park in Wales and can't seem to stop raving about it. Suffice it to say, the prospect of returning home was heartbreaking.

Stories

We had some friends over for lunch recently. Federer and Roddick fought it out for the Wimbledon title in the background on the telly, while we chatted, fed babies, changed babies, ate and chatted some more. And in the middle of all the tennis, carrot cake and vivid descriptions of the experiences of labour, some very interesting stories emerged.

Later, as A and I cleared up, we wondered how many stories are there out there. Every one has a story for a bestselling novel. Life really is something special - even the most boring one has a brilliant story hidden in its bosom, waiting to be unravelled.

Deep down we are all children, waiting to chat with our friends, eager to listen to the tales they have to tell us, and keen to share with them some of our own stories.