Me? I was curled up in bed in the child’s room by 10.30 pm, with the child held fast in my arms. The spouse was downing his celebratory vodka in our bedroom and I had every intention of waking up by 12 am and padding across to wish him a Happy New Year, but as is evident, sleep was too stern a mistress and refused to release me from her clutches. So I slept in. Gah. Maybe it is time to call up that old age home and check myself in. Pass me that adult diaper too while you’re at it.
Seriously though, the last time we went out to celebrate the New Year’s Eve was probably circa 2000. We had, along with a group of friends, passes to a party being held at Madh Island. I was much excited and had bought myself a shiny new black velvet top for the occasion and slathered on much dark eyeliner and red lipstick and fancied myself looking quite Spanish and exotic, I’m sure given the heavy handedness with which I applied the same, others around me would have thought of less flattering terms. We set off for the party at around 9 pm, which seemed a decent time to set out, given that Madh Island was on a regular day, a ten minute drive from our home. On this day we inched forward. Minute by minute. When the clock struck twelve, we wished each other a Happy New Year in the car. The spouse, never known for being cool, calm and collected and the man who has his head on his shoulders when the rest around are losing theirs, was boiling with a rage he didn’t know whom to take out on. I was, right there, and the handiest target. Of course, we ended up having a massive spat barely we hit the dance floor and all I can remember of the rest of the evening is that I tried to find an auto to get me back home, and this was pre-cellphone possession and yes, clout me on the head, it was also not a very sensible thing to do, given I hadn’t carried a purse or any money on me. Anyway, the man managed to extricate me from a very very tricky situation involving leering drunk men leaning into my auto, (Thank God for traffic jams, which ensured the auto had got no further than ten paces from the gate of the party!) We have since not gone out for the New Year’s Eve celebrations.
A couple of years down the line, I got pregnant, and the kind of pregnancy that has you lying on your back through it all, with your feet elevated, and stitches put in to keep the brat in making stay put in place, all going out officially stopped since then.
A number of my friends attended house parties, or went out to various hotels where parties were being held at loot the bank cover charges. I grumbled amicably at them and keeled over with jealousy when they, sadistically, might I add, detailed the fun they had, while I planned out which angles I should throw the knives at them. And when I checked out FB pictures this morning, I hunted around for spoonfuls of water to chuck myself into. And there were a couple of others like me, who had brought in the New Year at home with the family, and we shed some hot tears on each other’s shoulders, promising each other that we would make the year rock more than the bringing in of it did.
To be honest though, and don’t you dare tell anyone, especially not the spouse, since I have been very vocal about my disappointment that we Never Go Out, I am a little relieved at not having the pressure to dress up and go out and party. Its a nice feeling to bring in the New Year, curled up under a blanket, a little head on your arm, a little hand holding you tight and a leg thrown over you, almost afraid to let you go. A few years down the line, the child will be partying with his friends and not want me around. Till then, let me revel in him wanting me around. And say to myself, 2011, the year I brought in, with my son kicking my stomach hard while fighting sleep demons.