Clubbing to motherhood, take two
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I haven’t clubbed Pandas or Seals. Yet. I have clubbed in the partying sense…a lot. Being from a country which is obsessed with this sort of thing, I started very young and kept at it for years. There have been times that I have even liked Oakenfold (though thankfully not Moby). I have been to many a rave where I have consumed large amounts of intoxicants (I couldn’t think of a more p.c. term for the American readers of this blog). I have danced feverishly with hot hunks who brought me del.icio.us crêpes in the morning. I have even danced with scantily clad women though they are yet to do the breakfast thing. One fine day, last year, I bought a round-the-world ticket and decided to embark on a long journey for a year. Little did I realize that I will end up with a fat belly at the end of it.
Not that fat though. I am only 5 months pregnant. It’s a girl according to medics. And girl, does she kick. The raves, the previously mentioned intoxicants, hunks and scantily clad women don’t mean much anymore. I am about to be a mother! The feeling is incredible. It’s so good that I am about to buy a ticket to southern China just so I can go and club a panda!
I can’t say I did a lot of clubbing, but some parties were pretty wild. Intoxicating substances were damn nice too. Now having a 20-month old son (the age of drunken midget, per Tracy Ullman) I am constantly high on sleep deprivation and my party outfits have oatmeal and juice stains. And I would not change a thing!
Maybe it is a female thing. Being a father of two (4, 2), I must admit to missing the good times off and on. Not that I would change anything, but the rationalization is not a ’slam dunk’, so to speak. My wife on the other hand, has no such questions.
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