My Einstein

The morning drive to school is interjected with intense quiz sessions, taking a cab is starting to look like an alternative. Mich has some serious abstract questions to ask, I never know what is coming at me.

Monday
Mich – "If you fall from a cloud what happens?"
Me – "You die"

Tuesday
Mich– "How fast do you fall?"
In my mind – How fast do you fall? What kind of question is that? You just fall.
His Dad – "9.8 meters per second", then he goes on to talk about gravity and all that;- Physics lesson right there.

Wednesday
Mich – "Can a cricket swim?"
In my mind – But of course, don’t we hear them most in the rainy season?
His Dad – "No! Crickets can’t swim, they would die,they breathe through their abdomens ...". Science lesson - Check.

Thursday
Mich– "When you’re making a brick, how do you prevent it from sticking to the ground?"
In my mind – Hmmm… but what makes you think it would stick to the ground?
His Dad – "You could use straw, or grass"
Mich – "I’m making a ball out of mud but every day I come back from school I find it stuck to the ground".

The way I see it, I need Sam by my side all the time. Physics wasn’t my favorite subject, so really … I hope he asks all his questions while his daddy is nearby otherwise I will be in serious trouble. Don’t want to be getting butterflies in my tummy each time I hear “mummy?!”

The alternative is to answer the questions a day late, that way I have time to surf the internet for answers.
In the mean time I thank God for an intelligent husband :-)

Did I marry too soon?

What am I doing in this mans bed? Who is this kid calling me mummy? And why is this baby suckling at my breast? -  Exposing this sacred part of my body?

I want to go dancing. I want to write a new chapter in the novel of my life. I want to twirl in the free open meadows. I want to listen to the sweet tweeting of the birds and the crunching sound of leaves under my feet. I want to date again, to spend time with friends after 8pm and not feel it’s late. I want to have a snack for dinner and not have to cook a meal. I want to think about me alone.

A friend invited us to a housewarming; on the card the party would run from 4pm – 7pm. I thought 7pm was late - it’s Amani’s bedtime. Sam had a good laugh, he said, “When you think 7pm is late for a party, then you know you are truly growing old”. Tut tut! I’m in trouble.

There were days when 7 pm was time to bath and get ready for the paaare - which only begun to sizzle at 11pm. We organized parties, danced and laughed till the wee hours of the morning, then crammed ourselves in the girls rooms of a friend’s house (at 4am). I want to do that again.

Now I’m thinking about home work, P.1 school projects, shopping lists, diapers and occasional intimacy.

I enjoyed being single. I skipped at the opportunity to have a drink. Young men told me they loved me, they wrote poems, they tripped over themselves and I basked in their praises. I didn’t look, they came searching. I miss that attention.

I would like to travel and not worry about the husband and kids. Sometimes the task of raising human beings is daunting, the thought that little Amani depends entirely on me is overwhelming.

Why is it okay to go into town with a head scarf on? Frumpy clothes suit me just fine and now I fancy my mother’s flat shoes.

It’s unsettling to meet friends now married with 4 – 5 children. The lean mean guys are now pot bellied; the ladies are chubby all over. For some men the hair has taken flight, never to be seen again, for others the hair reminds me of snow white - white being the common denominator. The perky personalities have been replaced with frowns – life is too serious.

Maybe it’s not marriage, maybe I’m just growing older. Is this midlife crisis?

Back on the treadmill.

A fat hamster, having lived a lazy life is placed on a tread mill by a 6 year old boy. The boy is so excited to have a hamster for a pet, he turns the wheel double fast to see how fast its little legs can peddle. The hamster runs, faster and faster – it loses breath. Its feet can’t move as fast as its mind dictates. It topples over, gets dragged, ends up with its feet in the air, still peddling as though it was on the tread mill and its eyes wide open in bewilderment. I feel like that hamster.

After 3 months of sitting at home, 2 and a half of which I spent sleeping and eating and feeding Amani, I'm thrown back into this fast paced work world and I’m struggling to catch up to speed. Half my mind is at home with my little bundle. As I focus on the pile of work on my desk, my expanding chest is a constant reminder that right about now, I would have been serving my munchkin her breakfast/break/ lunch or snack.
In theory I should;-
-Feed her before I leave in the morning – 6:15am
-She should wake up between 7:50 - 8:15am
-Bathe and sleep again around 10:00am
-Wake up around 10:45 and have her 2nd feed of the day
-Have her afternoon nap between 12:30 and 2pm
-Have her 3rd feed around 2:15pm (this is when I should dash home and feed her)
-Feed again around 3:50pm and nap for 30 minutes
-Wake up around 4:20pm, play till 5:30pm when she has a bath
Hopefully by 5:30pm am back home ceteris paribus.
After her bath I feed her and she slowly winds down to sleep around 7 pm.
But with the work on my desk, colleagues asking for help when the clock strikes 5pm and Kampala's crazy traffic, it's tight.

While briefing my supervisor about my schedule, our conversation went something like this;
“So, it’s good to have you back. How is baby?”
“Thank you. Baby is doing just fine”
“Are you still breastfeeding?”
“Yes I am”
“Do you have enough milk?”
“Yes I do”
(My responses were brief. I was not too thrilled to expound with a male colleague intentionally standing within ear shot)
“Ohh! That means you have to express, where will you keep the milk…”
I almost told her to shhhpp!! I didn’t like the conversation, for a second there it sounded like I was a cow in a dairy factory.
The fact of the matter is, yes I have to express. I sit in the conference room and like a secret service agent, I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone. I unleash my weapons and spend the next 15 to 20 minutes looking out the window.
I have to be careful how much I drink because soon after expressing I’m full again. It’s nasty if blouses get stained so I have to be well equipped and tactfully avoid bright colored clothing. There is nothing as unpleasant as a nursing mother with map stains all over her blouse or having the scent of a milk machine – so I drown it in perfume. But seriously I hope I don’t get to that point.