Lazy Baby

On September 2nd of 1977, nine months and 10 days after my conception, my mother went to the hospital with my father, both grandfathers and my grandmother, who had all traveled to London to witness my birth, the first grandchild. When they arrived at the hospital, my mother politely asked the doctor why the hell I wasn’t out yet and that this was getting a little tedious.

This was the third time my mom and dad were turned away from the hospital and told to go back home until they had a real labor going on. I guess I was comfortable. On September 12^th, 2 weeks after my due date, the doctor seeing no sign of any initiative on my part to come out, told my mother that I was a “lazy baby” and he was going to have to get me out by way of Cesarean. And so I was rudely forced out into the cold room full of strangers staring at me. I wasn’t pleased.

From that memorable occasion, I have been branded as lazy. And I really am. I’m so lazy that I have actually tried telekinesis to will the remote control to my hand. I’ve gone hours without food, because I was too lazy to make something. That’s when Domino’s became an important part of my life in college. And like Newton’s law of Inertia states, an object at rest remains at rest until acted upon by an unbalanced force. In my case an unbalanced force would have to be fire, hurricane or earthquakes otherwise I don’t think I would ever move. I hate moving unnecessarily. Once we were in the underground and a public announcement came on to evacuate the station immediately, my mother started to panic and run, but I was still evacuating at a leisurely pace. She had to grab me from my elbow and pull me all the way out. At the time I was a teenager, so above everything I didn’t want to be all panicky and look uncool, but the bottom line is that I was lazy.

For the past five hours I’ve been sitting on the same sofa, with the laptop and as people around me move, I ask them to pass me whatever it is I want as they reach its general vicinity. I’ve even asked Whisker, my dog to turn the lights on, the other day. She didn’t respond. I have to train her better, but I can’t be bothered to repeat the same thing everyday.

In my previous life, I suspect that I was either an empress or a paraplegic. I must’ve had slaves that fed me grapes as I lay on my chaise longue watching the jesters entertain me. Ironically, though if I have to exercise, I can actually go 75 minutes in a step class, jog for 30 minutes or spinning for an hour, but once that is over, I refuse to exert additional effort. I paid my dues, and now I must rest, I’m actually quite tired.

And although I’m the queen of procrastination, once in a while I get a spurt of mysterious energy, where in the span of one hour, I would finish a painting or clean my whole room, rearrange my closet and alphabetize my DVD collection. But those are rare moments, and usually there are no witnesses. Sometimes even in those occasions, the energy spurt runs out in the middle of the project. My mother once walked into my room and found me sat in the middle of the room on the floor with all my belongings in piles around me as if I was giving them a speech. I had started to sort things out, and then got exhausted by the immense proportions of the task. I never told her this, but what I was doing, sitting there like a yogi was trying to meditate, and hoping to move my stuff back into the closets with my mind.

So at the end of the day, if left to my own devices I could sleep forever. Nothing is really worth getting out of bed for, especially in the morning. I find my bed to be sacred in that lovely peaceful time of day. It’s personal time. I don’t want to share it with others, let alone get dressed and kicked out of the house into a functioning world. On weekends, I sleep 12 hours and I enjoy every damn minute of it. I went shopping for Eid clothes the other day and came home with 2 pyjamas and water lily bath gel. So I guess my plans for the 5 day vacation are set. I will be having a mini-hibernation followed by a bath.

But I don’t know how long this is going to last. I mean, eventually I’m supposed to have children. And if you ask any mother she will give you one piece of advice.

“Sleep now. Sleep as much as you can. Because the minute you become a mother, you will never sleep again.”

Oh crap. (Long awkward silence.)

Well, anyway, we can cross that bridge when we get to it. Next summer, when I’m all slept out, I will be ready to have kids and inshallah one day I’ll be surrounded by a bunch (and by bunch I mean two) of cute mini-me’s; a few lazy babies to cuddle up with and take naps with on my big sofa. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I’ll tell you when I get there.