Finding Nemo in Me

But one day,close to Res second birthday,it hit me. I was Nemo. I was the ocean fish who had been moved into a tank. I had actually walked into the tank with my eyes open,thinking that I would really love it there.

Till I became a mother,I was always a get-up-and-go girl. I had quit the comfort of my parents home,jobs,hostels,apartments and boyfriends to break free,to pursue my dreams,however short-term they were. So the one thing I was missing the most in this whole motherhood business was me. The me that took off to Pondicherry or Gokarna on a whim. The me that wanted to open a bookstore and cafe at Thekkady. The me that wanted to grow coffee. The me that wanted to go to Jomsom so bad that I checked into the Kathmandu airport six days in a row hoping to hear that the weather had improved enough for flights to take off. The me that joined salsa,taichi,capoeira,dance meditation,pottery and film-appreciation workshops because I wanted to. The me that quit advertising to run an animal helpline.

Now,even going for a book reading or a tea-tasting is a multiple-backup project. It was hard to live life with a little person always to account for. Even if that little person was something you birthed and loved dearly. And it was not about finding help,or a day-care or calling your mother. I remembered something someone said. The day you have a child,you are finished. Your life is no longer your own. At the time I heard it,the free-spirited soul that I was,I brushed it off. That can never be my life,I thought.

My new universe was full of women who lost themselves after they had children and then blamed motherhood for it. I didnt want to be that woman,but for the first year or so,I found myself drowning in the quicksand of motherhood. I was no caterpillar,but I was struggling in my motherhood cocoon. If you are a working mom,you legitimately claim it back as soon as you can. But I had let that universe go. And there was no turning back for me. I realised I hadnt thought it through. There would be enough left of me after a whole lot of me had been spent by motherhood. And that me needed to be nurtured as much as my baby.

I found my ways. I wrote a book. I started a blog. I started tweeting my highs and lows. I was writing and reading more than ever before. Morning shows were my new thing. I found coffees and cupcakes. I found graphic novel libraries. I found every little place that set me free.

When the husband asked me what I wanted for my recent birthday,I said,I want a real holiday. Okay then,why dont you firm up the dates and book us tickets?

You got it wrong. I said I wanted a holiday,not we.

He looked a tad disappointed,but then,I reminded him that political correctness was never my suit. He smiled. I plotted.

Someday I may want to go back to school. Or just backpack for six months. I didnt marry spontaneous,so I know its going to be tough. Ill figure out how to make it happen. And if I want it real bad,I can.

A few weeks ago,I joined a street jazz class. I am now learning to pirouette and have just mastered the choreography of 4 minutes by Madonna and Justin Timberlake. Most of the class is half my age,or perhaps younger. Sometimes they call me aunty,sometimes mam,and sometimes,when I take Re along,they dont even look at me. Its only about him. They have lean,fit bodies,shapely legs and they move with style and attitude. I am having a tough time keeping pace with them,but feeling inadequate has never felt this good. Its not about getting my body back or shedding that flab or getting into a bikini. Its just about feeling free,feeling me. I practise hard,it takes me longer to learn the steps that the youngsters have such a natural flair for. But for the first time,I am not afraid to say I dont know. Or I didnt get it. Every Wednesday and Saturday,I put on my dancing shoes and I am out of the house,in a world all of my own for two hours. I am trying to find my inner Nemo,and I must say,I still love her.

(Lalita Iyer is mother to two cats and a baby,and blogs at mommygolightly.wordpress.com when they let her)