Raising Rockstar

(Written several days ago)

Ms Rockstar is super proud of her Feet because she hasn’t learnt the significance of Have (Pedicure)s and Have Nots. Then again her little feet are so gorgeous, so smooth and unused (except for the occasional toe wiggle and daily standing exercises), of course she is proud of them. I am proud of them.

My feet on the other hand, have been through a lot over the years. If you’ve ever trained barefoot on concrete heated by Southeast Asian afternoon sun, you’ll know what I mean. Lots of kicking of boards (12×12 inches and 1 inch thick standard size if I recall correctly) plus countless Taegeuk and sandbag encounters. You get to bond with instructors over the occasional sharing of little scissors to cut (rather than tear) skin off when blisters pop blisters. (But I think dancers still have it worse, because they still have to wear shoes).

So yeah my feet are functional. Strong. Also pretty much the only part of me I regularly gave The Beauty Treatment, because the contrast with what I know they’ve been through is so great. A pedicure is to me a huge indulgence.

The first pedicure I remember getting was couple years after I’d come out to work. I’d put together one of my first ever forex option product recommendations on Powerpoint, asked Kings (fresh off an equity options desk in Schroders London) to vet it, and we’d missed a mistake in it that allowed a less-than-friendly senior to tear it apart and bin what was otherwise a pretty good idea. I was devastated because I deserved it. And I didn’t get a second chance (in fact I’d barely had the first chance and I was stupid enough to blow it – which was the basis of my hand-wringing.)

That’s how I got my first real pedicure – in hot pink. It cost SGD 20 in the old Caltex (now Chevron) house.

Today, I agonize over whether to get our current Rent-A-Mum nanny to stay an extra hour. With Rockstar on school holiday (and missing our otherwise fairly regular travels abroad), I didn’t want to farm him off to our helper (which usually bothers him) and so I’d been getting a nanny 4 hours each day for the baby, during which I’d take Rockstar  to the pool, or impromptu Artjamming. Just like we used to do before I had the baby. Doing that every single day last week however felt like a guilty extravagance.

Happened to make a last minute session with some friends from music class

What the heck. Ms Rockstar was up 3 times last night. And Rockstar’s got a bad cold (no way to avoid the two badly coughing and hacking little girls standing next to him during Cantonese music). So I get the nanny an extra hour and fervently look forward to and envision pleasurable experience sitting in white sunlight-filled room. I haven’t had a pedicure in over a year, a year and a half. The last pregnancy was that uncomfortable.

When I call for a pedi appointment however, the spa of my choice can’t fit me in.

“But I just booked the nanny! I don’t have any other chance to do this!” Not unsympathetically, the receptionist tells me they have nothing til after the time I’ve extended our nanny for. And Ms Rockstar expects me to bathe her then. (There are some things of the little Ms’ that you can mess with – Feet and Bath are not those. She turns into a very angry little person.)

Un-angry person in Repetto swimsuit (gift from girlfriend - it is literally the most beautiful baby swimsuit I've ever seen!)

I put down the phone and sob. It is sudden, and extremely unexpected.

When you cry over a pedicure you know it’s really time to get a pedicure because you are not really crying about the pedicure. Very reluctantly I book elsewhere – right at my old workplace because that’s the only other place I know how to nip in and out of while Rockstar is in Chinese class. Not at all the ambience I want because of the memories it’ll bring, at a time when I know I’m not on a Shiny Happy Day.

But it’s a pedicure. I will still get to look at colored toenails for couple weeks after.

I’m with Rockstar in the cab on the way to Funzone pre-Chinese class, when my cellphone rings. “We have a cancellation, but…..” Kudos to the Sense Of Touch receptionist for ringing right back, but it would mean my helper takes over at Funzone. Right now.

Rockstar, who witnessed my meltdown earlier (and then quietly opened up my laptop to practice his online schoolwork – he does that sometimes when he sees me upset, bless him, after once asking how he could “help” and getting my reply that best would be to do what he’s supposed to do without me having to nag… Of course when I am not upset he might indulge in reminding me he loves his Dad (and now also the baby) more because they don’t nag him to eat/ sleep/ whatever) is listening quietly… He’d told me earlier it was ok for the helper to bring him to Funzone because he really wanted to go today, but….. I can’t bring myself to do it.

So I let the slot go. Again. Rockstar does not react. He usually doesn’t, when he’s in serious eavesdropping mode. But he will file these away for future reference. Someday he opens his mouth and you realize his little brain is like one of those black books I imagine mob bosses have – an entire directory of Who’s Done And Owes What, tucked away between those little ears. Like a little shadow with infinitely grave expression, my tiny, too-serious son constantly flits in and out of our awareness discreetly absorbing grownup conversations – sometimes way more accurately than we’d like.

Funzone is the usual cacophony of kids scurrying everywhere. Rockstar leaves me to write this post on my iPhone. Finally, having not seen hide nor hair of him in some time, I go looking. He pops up out of nowhere delightedly crying, “A friend, Mum! A new friend!” before he’s gone again.

Glimpses of Rockstar in rabidly delighted mode are fewer than I’d like. I’m hungry for him to have a best friend, after all that time in Kindy watching him be the “third friend” to various best buddy duos. Sometimes you get a little heartache hearing him describe it:

Me: Who did you play with today, dear?

Rockstar: Friend C. Kind of.

Me: What do you mean “Kind of”?

Rockstar: I wanted to play with him but he said he wanted to play with Friend D. So I went and found Friend D for him and then they played together.

You can’t force kids to be friends, but you can fervently wish.

Ugly... but sweet

Rockstar has a friend for the day and I got to see the I Have Friend Happy Face. I didn’t farm him off! Then he’s off to Chinese and I to a pedicure that takes less than 30 minutes to snip away all the dried and ugly bits. And there I thought I was in bad shape and needed a lot of work.

What a metaphor for that day.

Oh, and it was the best pedicure in the world. For me. Cos I decided. Discovering you can do that…. so cool.