My Little Ramazan - Day Twenty Four

Fri 3rd September 2010

What a day. Sometimes I wonder how, in my pre-parenting days, I managed to run a successful, vibrant community arts business and work all the hours God sent, when now I struggle to get through a two hour parent and toddler session. I think the answer lies in the fact that although I loved my little business, and the people I worked with, I am emotionally, physically and spiritually intertwined with my little tot, who now happens to be my major business partner. Sometimes we are a real dream team, we distribute high output and make maximum profit. Other times we are dysfunctional and inefficient and the business takes a downturn. Bankruptcy on the horizon.

Today has been one of those times. The naughty chair was used four times in the space of two hours (Supernanny eat your heart out), there were trips outside to allow fresh air to soothe the seething anger (for both of us), and there was a brawl over a breadstick. To cap it all, the Highland News photographer arrived just as Baran had filled his nappy and had decided to display an unrivaled and pretty impressive fit of temper on the corridor floor. This was not at all conducive to snapping the perfect shot of mother and child tenderness to accompany the Ramazan article for next week’s paper. And, for future reference, the ‘Koran for Dummies’ is not the best tool with which to distract a screaming toddler and crack a smile. Just in case you ever find yourself in the same situation.

The words ‘glutten’ and ‘punishment’ spring to mind when I recall what happened when we got home. I thought: ‘I know what I’ll do, I’ll start Baran’s potty training!’ What made me think that either of us were in the best frame of mind to begin this epic task? Have I not got enough of a challenge on my hands with daylight fasting and managing the highs and lows of a two year old? You’d think so.

But I assembled the equipment anyway. Potty. Disinfectant spray. Kitchen roll. Reward chart. Big boy pants. What I could not have anticipated was the amount of liquid that can come out of this child. I had about twenty seconds to sit back and think how sweet he looked in his new pants when it started. Scooshing, spraying, wiping, comforting, cleaning, changing and despairing – absolutely despairing – that anybody could have nine wees in the space of half an hour. He absolutely refused to sit on the potty (even though he’s done it fully-clothed many times before) and the way he was chucking it about, it was just a bloody good job it was made of toughened plastic.

So the only logical conclusion to these urine-soaked shenanigans, was to whack a nappy on him and insist it was time for an afternoon sleep. Not exactly health visitor logic, I know. And, once he’d finally nodded off into his land of clean, dry bums, the most annoyingly frustrating thing about all of this was that I could not sit down with a cup of tea. Still, after almost one month of fasting, I simply can’t shake the urge to reach for a cuppa.

And to be honest people (Allah, forgive me for I have sinned), if I hadn’t been fasting that cup of tea may have been actively shunned for a drop of vino. It’s been that kind of day.

So when I sent out a pleading text to my pal Becky, she rescued me this evening in a way that only a mum of five can do. With her three-month old baby boy in tow. We spent the evening chatting and I managed to extract some shiny pearls of wisdom from her about the golden rules of parenting. What a tonic. Bearing in mind I spend most evenings alone and waiting for Mustafa to finish his late shift at work, it was wonderful – no, bloody marvelous – to have some female company to soothe the soul. Men, you rock our worlds, you really do, but us girls need each other in large, medicinal doses. It’s just a fact of life.

Note to self: do not attempt huge tasks such as potty training whilst denying your body of basic sustenance. In fact, note to self: seriously consider whether or not Ramazan will be an annual thing for you. In this case, once may well be enough.