April 23: Pass

Had an on-the-phone row with Father-to-be (very loudly; and out on my street, quite embarrassingly, as the builders had congregated in my house). Which is better? To row in front of your neighbours? Or your builders? I'm not quite sure. FTB asked (very kindly) if he should come over this weekend to help; if he should fit me in on his way up north to see the new baby. He also said: 'It will bring me closer to you and Bump.' I said, 'Maybe not. I don't need jobs doing at the moment, thanks (as the house is in building-work chaos). Why don't you just go up-north to your family and enjoy the new arrival.' Of course, the real reason is I just feel a bit exposed at the moment. It's too tricky. We are not together. He's made it abundantly clear that the 'Indian powers that be' won't allow it. So, in a way, what's the point of him coming to my house (especially on such a sunny weekend when I want to go out and play). And why does he want to get closer to me when he 'can't' be with me? But, of course, I'm aware that I started this whole 'integration policy' and told him he had hitherto been 'very unsupportive' so perhaps I should have just said, 'Yes, come' and embraced the awkwardness.
If I'd have done that, it might have spared an argument. As it was, it all splurged out. If he doesn't come, he might not see me until after Bump is born, he says. Correct. What happens then, he asks. What does he do? Is it still worth him battling? What battle, I ask? The battle - to try and get his family to accept Bump and I, so we can all be one big happy family. Sorry but I wasn't really aware he'd been battling. Not seen many War wounds. No armour. He doesn't need to battle, I think. He just needs to tell them: 'I'm seeing my child, and I'm going to try and be the best dad I can. And I'm going to try and mend the damage with the white bird.' Deal with it. Not so much a battle but a Napoleonic decision. He'd never make a general.
What am I meant to say when he asks if the battle is still worth waging? How about 'I don't bloody know. Pass. Next question, please.' He is so infuriatingly stuck, so pathetically powerless, so imprisoned in his merry-go-round mental torture.
And the longer it goes on - with no clear leadership / action from him - the more I just give up and get on with my life and my future. It's not that bleak, either. The future's bright. The future's Orange. It's luminously exciting. But then, of course, it's back to the same old thing. I relent, say: 'You can come tomorrow if you want to, that will be fine.' And I tell him that after Bump is born, it's a different kettle of fish - as he'll be coming to see him / her (if he decides to). I won't be able to say 'no, don't come' then. If he's having a relationship with the child, then that's got to be sorted. But he says - as he always does (I can recite this now): 'But what relationship will that be? I will be one percent dad. I won't be able to give it anything of my life. I'll never be able to take it to see my parents. It will still be a secret. I'll never be able to be a proper dad. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?'
I just feel he's going to get increasingly sadder about it all. He will see the new shiny nephew, and how excited the parents are. And, of course, the black sheep cousin will be having a child with his white girlfriend. What's he going to think with all the babies about, with everyone getting on with their lives. He's going to know he could have had me (and I'm pretty hot, I must tell you. You should see my legs; not to mention my scar) and Bump. He really could have had one smashing multi-racial, go-get-the-world full-of-fun family. What's he got instead? A job. Parents. A nephew. And still pressure to 'find a woman and settle down - or get some Punjabi virgin off a boat - and be a good Indian dutiful son'. Do what was always expected of him. It's like being offered an all-expenses-paid year-long round-the-world trip in a £70,000 yacht, accompanied by a netball team from Honolulu. Or a weekend in a B&B in Blackpool. Well, perhaps that's not the best analogy. But you get my drift. I don't know. Perhaps Blackpool's got more going for it than meets the eye. Donkeys, that must be it. It's full of donkeys.