“Oh well, you know how it is,” I would say, helplessly shrugging and tilting my head towards the offspring wailing in his carrycot. 

And everyone would nod understandingly. Yeah, they’d been there. Or knew someone who’d been there.  

And that would be my cue. I’d grab the husband and we would hastily say our goodbyes, him sheepishly apologising as we made for the exit. Once out of earshot, I would heave a sigh of relief, return the blankie to its rightful owner along with a reward for excellent performance and make for the car. 

New moms soon become adept at the not-so-right ways to enjoy motherhood

At times, guilt would sneak into the car with us, but the relief from having walked out of a gathering so boring that it made the idea of watching grass grow seem exciting, was enough to kick it to the curb. Not that I am some crazy party animal but it was just one of those events where I’d rather not be but had to be. Except now I had the perfect excuse to not be — of course, most regrettably. 

I had recognised the true power of a wailing child and its potential to cause widespread panic in the calmest of creatures. And thus, my offspring became my perfect, graceful — at least in comparison — exit strategy.  

I could arrive late to a party, apologise, shrug and just point to the baby. 

“Oh, you know how it is,” I would say. 

And just like that ‘my’ lack of time management and perfectly-winged eyeliner — the real culprit for our delay — were forgiven. 

I had recognised the true power of a wailing child and its potential to cause widespread panic in the calmest of creatures. And thus, my offspring became my perfect, graceful — at least in comparison — exit strategy.  

It was genius, it was foolproof and it was one priceless perk of motherhood that I had planned to exploit to the max.  

And I would have, had I not become so drunk on its power and staggered on the steep learning curve. The trick is to use this excuse subtly and cautiously. This piece of wisdom I know now through experience. Mistakes were made, admittedly I got sloppy and, after a few slip-ups, the husband caught on. 

Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t completely foolproof. 

Despite my strong case, he refused to be an accomplice. Following in his father’s footsteps, the offspring too began to rebel. Once I had said my carefully rehearsed line, some eager-to-please family member would jump in, dupatta swaying in the wind and very selflessly offer to help with the baby so I could “enjoy” the party. Instead of bawling even louder as he had been instructed to do earlier, mister social caterpillar would set aside his separation anxiety, happily crawl out and be whisked away into the kaleidoscope of colourful butterflies, forgetting all about his distraught mother and her failed escape.  

Fortunately, having a little human dependent on you has also opened up so many other possibilities. With Mother’s Day around the corner, I am now eligible for so much more. Discounts on anti-ageing cream, (which, by the way, is a big deal since they are not cheap) and therapeutic spa deals.  

Since offspring is a little young to truly comprehend the significance of May the 13th, and execute elaborate plans in my honour, I decided to lay the groundwork early, set the benchmark high and booked myself for an hour long session at a spa.

Okay, granted that a spa date once a Gregorian year isn’t really setting the benchmark high. But consider how offspring was currently going through a phase of separation anxiety and followed me around the house and doing the Indy roll just as I closed the bathroom door. ... If he and his hat didn’t make it, he would stand outside, repeating my name till I opened up. So, yes, from where we were, an hour of pampering seemed pretty exciting.

But it just so happened that on the day of my appointment, I miscalculated the time. Okay, I may have overslept. When I walked in an hour late, the pretty, young receptionist, clearly not very bright, told me what I already knew. 

“You’re appointment was for 4:30, Mrs Umair!”

I was prepared for this. My hair was in a perfectly messy, messy-bun and with the right mix of tired, sleep-deprived mother, I dumped my diaper bag on the sofa to allow just a few of the offspring’s toys to fall out. 

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I know.” I began, “But you know how it is with babies.”

One glance at my hair, then the bag and her expression softened. 

“Oh!” she sympathised. “Right this way ma’am.” 

And with that, I was escorted to a wonderful world of essential oils, Essie colours and foot massage.

Aaah, maternal bliss.

Published in Dawn, EOS, May 13th, 2018