Thurs 2nd September 2010
A week today and I am a free woman. A week today and I can once again grace the aisles of Tesco with full verve and intention. And, most importantly, a week today I can enjoy a meal with my son again.
Today, at the park, we had a near lip-licking disaster as Baran practically squashed a mini-milk ice lolly into my face. I’d been making all manner of “hmmm!” and “oooh!” noises in an effort to join him in the appreciation of the sweet milky stuff on a stick. Maybe, in hindsight I’d been a little over zealous in my appreciation of said treat, due to what was now severe hunger. Bless him. He just wanted to share his sloppy milky mess with Mummy. Something he hasn’t been able to do with any of his food for quite some time. Imagine his disappointment when Mummy used a baby wipe to clean his generous offering away. The dramatic pout he threw me over his shoulder as he plodded off to the roundabout was certainly no mistake.
And it seems Baran had his own food issue at nursery today. When I picked him up (by the way, why can’t I get him to sit in a chair until his name is called?), his play leader told me he’d had a run in with some play dough. Well, let’s face it, it’s treacherous stuff. Baran had decided the play dough looked like a very tasty snack and stuffed a large globule of it into his mouth. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever sampled play dough but not only is it made predominantly of salt but it also becomes extremely gooey on contact with water, or in this case, saliva. So basically my child was left with a big glob of salty gummy yuk which hindered all speech or basic functional mouth movements. The poor play leader had the job of fishing it out and scrubbing the bits which were stubbornly stuck to the roof of Baran’s mouth with a mini toothbrush. Try performing this technique on a rather portly child who is in distress that his mouth is all clagged up. Not in her job description, I’m sure.
He seems to have dealt with the ordeal quite well though, because he has joyously consumed pizza, yoghurt, custard and biscuits this evening. I may well consume the same in precisely eight minutes when that pesky sun goes down. When the reporter asked me yesterday what had been the hardest about participating in Ramazan, I don’t know if I mentioned that I miss eating with my child. Surely one of the most heartwarming things a mother can experience is eating a home cooked meal with her little one. So, on that note, I have a request of my readers.
Following Ramazan, there is a festival of sugar called ‘Bayram’ (or ‘Eid’) which I believe lasts for three days. I’m bloody sure I’m going to be taking part in any celebration which involves eating, especially sweet things. If you have been following this blog, and you’ve enjoyed hearing my little tale of fasting, I’d now like you to do something for me. Think of the single most gorgeous sweet treat you have ever eaten, find out the recipe for it and send it to me via Facebook or e-mail or however you know me. If it’s within my means to do it, I will bake or cook every single recipe for my little boy, my husband and myself. This family needs to come together again, and you could be the one to make it happen.
But please remember this: we’re not partial to play dough.
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