THE BOY IS 2

My son finally celebrated his 2nd Birthday yesterday. I feel so proud to have raised such a sweet chubby boy, tall for his age, obedient - at times.

Well, being the confused mom that I am, I remembered at around 11 that birthdays come with cakes. Call number one is to my old time cake house, on Mama Ngina street. They do not do deliveries, and need at least a day to bake, thought cakes only took 2 hours (can't bake anyway, how would I know). Call number two to yet another bakery in Westlands, no deliveries. I'm panicky now............. call my colleagues to ask for a baker that they know and instead of telling me, I'm told off, that by the 3rd or 4th birthday, I'll know how to 'jipanga' to avoid this last minute rush. I'd planned for the weekend and since my dear old grandpa decided he wanted to go rest, and rest he did. Burial is this Saturday hence my rush to get a cake at least yesterday as I have to travel tomorrow and today I have to look for tickets for my kinsmen to go do a sendoff befitting the gentleman that he was.

Well, back to cakes, it is going to 12 and still no solution. My HRM is so bright, thank God for the likes of her. She knows just the perfect place to get a cake. The bakery at the Shell Petrol Station opposite Mobil or is it Kobil in Westlands where there's Nando's (is it the Galitos?) They make the best cakes she's had made so far. She's an angel, I give her a hug. So perfect! 'You know what, they don't have a number.' And I want that hug back. How do you operate without a number is this city. The damn place is in Westlands, I'm in Upperhill, not mobile, but then the good thing is that you can get there and find there are no cakes!!!!!! I just need a cake. Last option, another colleague who has a friend who's wife bakes. Thank God. Dial, talk, arrange, discuss, options, delivery, directions, I'm sorted. But will be ready by 8pm, its ok, we'll go pick it up with my man, come home, sing happy birthday to the boy, he cuts the cake we eat. He's officially two. I love it.

So I'm sorted out! 5pm and I head home, to the gym, yah, I do aerobics too. The instructor today is a guy who looks 'pamela' - familiar. And he is out to punish us, I'll call him the instructor from hell. I have never sweated after 10 minutes like I did yesterday, but I loved every minute of it. It was different, different moves, exercises, abs, weights..... At the end of it all he calls me aside. Was I that bad? Ok, next time I'll try to go with his moves, I'm sorry. Its a relief when he asks me if I have a bro called Simon, yes I do, oh, 'we went to school together'. Thank God, then it hits me, Iused to see the boy when he was a brat, he's dyed his hair all orange now, yah, its orange, not blonde or brown or white, ORANGE! I begin to like him, he supports my man RAO. Don't get ideas now. After I head home, shower, watch Raila being bashed by Kalonzo and PANUA guys, I'm actually beginning to enjoy this as they are just polularising his campaign. But that's politics.

At 8 my ride is here, I go pick the cake, quarrel abit on the way to South C as I forgot the paper I wrote the direction on in the office. I amaze myself, I'm so poor at directions the only reason I get home is coz the mat drivers knows my place. I hate it when they tell me 'si we ni ule mama wa Kodi' but it does help. Decide to meet at Mobil Mombasa Road, pick and pay for the cake and head home. As we are singing for the boy, he's so tickled he dances to our pathetic sounds, myself, daddy, niece and nephew. We cut the cake, and mum decided to give baby the first bite. He does not even open his mouth. He has this thing about tasting EVERYTHING first before it enters his mouth (except if its directly from the floor). He refused to eat the cake after all I went through to get it. Too bad, I'll eat it, he'll indirectly get it when he breastfeeds. I don't give him sugar so I think its the reason. But I made sure the cake had very little sugar of which it did, so I do not understand.

Anyway, there's still more left for them that love indulging in the forbiddens. I love everything that's hated by the weight-conscious, makes life worth living, every bit of it.

Ciao.................