Sun 15th August 2010
And so the mood swings kick in. How on earth does that husband of mine leap about the kitchen in sheer delight that his stomach has been empty all day when I can’t even muster a smile? When it gets to sundown, I become a very serious person indeed. I could rival my son with his intensely dramatic I-must-have-my-own-way-immediately frowns and no-one must get in my meal-preparing path. I need orange squash and I need it now. I need pasta and I need it now. I need chocolate and I need it, like, ten hours ago!
Maybe I’m missing the divine element of all this. I mean, I don’t believe that a God is asking me to do all this fasting stuff so is that why I’m just not getting it yet? I have to admit I am secretly proud that I have managed to get through my second day of fasting with no envelope-licking or other incidents whatsoever, but is that slither of pride going to be enough to keep me going for the rest of the month?
And I am exhausted. It’s to be expected I suppose. But for some reason I just didn’t imagine it. I imagined dashing about as per usual with a bit of a rumbly belly but I didn’t for a second think I wouldn’t be able to complete my daily activities. Today has consisted of a vast amount of lying down. We took Baran to the beach and – due to the sheer lack of ice cream – I had to have a lie down. We all went home for a nap which, as you can imagine, involves lying down. Baran point-blank refused to sleep (why, today of all days?) so I took him downstairs, put on CBeebies and made a bed of cushions on the floor for us both to lie down. What on earth is happening to me?
And then there was the never-ending walk to the park. Yet again I decided to keep Baran up later than usual so I could kill time until sundown. After the agonizing task of serving up sausages, rice and peas for his dinner and enjoying the greatness of Mr Tumble on CBeebies, Baran and I ventured outside again. I thought a short walk would do us both good.
A short walk? Oh my god, I have never had to call on such powers of inner strength and persistence as I did today. Let me get this straight. My son is wonderful. He lights up my life and I think he is absolutely the bee’s knees. But bloody hell could a person – two years old or not – ever, in a million years, walk slower than him? I am not kidding, he had to stop and inspect every single crevice in every single wall, every single petal on every single flower, every single letterbox on every single door. Then there’s the things he couldn’t reach but gave it a go anyway: the tops of the trees, the tops of lampposts, telegraph wires, clouds, birds, the moon. By the time we got to the park I was all washed out and – you guessed it – I had to lie down.
The slow walk back was almost as painful until inspiration hit me. Bribery! “Come on sweetheart, if you walk very nicely and very quickly with mummy, you can have a snack from the shop before we go home.” That did the trick. Which, to be honest, really peed me off. It meant he knew what he was doing all along and wasn’t simply being a sweet little thing who didn’t know any better. He is not stupid, my son. And he had a Thomas the Tank Engine chocolate lolly and I didn’t. Unfair.
So I’m not enjoying the grouchy thing. I’m not enjoying being moody and touchy and very short of patience. It’s not the best concoction of personal qualities when raising a toddler. Needless to say, if it gets much worse, I will have to rethink the whole Ramazan thing. My son is number one and he needs a patient, enduring, tolerant mother. And, preferably, a mother with a full belly.
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