As I write this, my partner is at the airport in Milan, en route to India. It is strange that he should be travelling without us, but our little one is still passport-less, and perhaps too young to be able to attend a big, potentially loud Indian wedding. I was eager for my partner to be present and luckily, he was himself enthusiastic about going, moving mountains in order to make the time to travel. I have so many mixed emotions about him being there without us. On the one hand I love the idea that he will, after the celebrations in Bhopal, travel to Mumbai and meet my parents and stay with my sister, but on the other I am envious of the fact that he will be served the prawn curry rice and potato chops and all the other delicious things my parents will certainly have on the menu. I will relish them only second-hand, through photographs and his feedback. I am almost frightened about the nostalgia it will evoke, and whether the knowledge of him having such intimate contact with my family will only enhance my homesickness instead of placating it.

In the meantime, I am holding the fort back here in Tramin. Our child is showing signs of being on the verge of both crawling and teething, a curious combination of milestones. I am enjoying him being more mobile and exploring the world in his own awkward way. But I am nervous about managing full-time work without my partner’s support, which has, since I became a mother, made it possible for me to manage such a vast portfolio of freelance work. To enable me to be productive in his absence, he gave me a small sermon about how I needed to be more assertive about my needs when it came to his parents. That they are always eager to help me, if I could only specify what I need from them. If only it were that simple. In fact, asking for help is certainly one of the most challenging aspects of adulting.