Hormonal Cocktail (Part 2)

2nd Trimester

Just when I was resigning to the fact that this, nauseous, emotionally unstable, straight out of a high drama movie me is probably who I am now; comes the bright, sun shiney 2nd trimester. The books and the theory were right! It was a glorious time! Body, hormones and I had amicably acclimatized to each other and were singing songs. Body was in the pin-up, ready for pregnancy shoot, cutely bumpy phase and all was well again. One just recommends pregnancy to everyone in this phase, because it is so beautiful. Free from the teething in of the first 3 months and far from the reality of the last few months.

Representing a Fire Engine Truck

Days were good: eat well, exercise, walk, stay happy, socialize, read sensible stuff, listen to Mozart, Bach and Kirtans, (ok fine, rock music.. but it was soft rock) take multi-vits and pray. And repeat. Everyday. And if you're very adventurous, take an out of town trip as well!

When you can't play Paint Ball... because, apparently its no fun to aim at a pregnant woman. Plus, I was a slow moving easy target.

Even the 7th month whizzed pass on some of the afterglow from the 2nd trimester but the 8th month was relentless. 
At times I would be crazy-ass angry on something so trivial that the last remaining logical part of my brain would reason with the hormone laced part. I'd recognize how tiny the issue was and try and be Gandhi about it, but the other half of my brain (which was more in charge right now) would be like a raging bull on adrenaline, looking for a fight, lashing out some inane trash talk (you wanna fight?! lets fight! come on!! Are you scared??!!). 
On other days, I was gloomy. Like when summer holidays are about to end and homework isn't done, like when you overslept in the afternoon and it is dusk when you wake up, like when you just can’t find someone to share an apple pie and you don’t want the calorie guilt of an entire pie, like when you form a mental picture of how awesome you'd look in a dress you ordered online but in reality you look like a plump potato, like when you keep planning on Goa trips and they never happen, (you get the picture?). The nasty, grey gloom engulfs like an uncomfortable hug from a creepy person and you can’t shrug it off. It makes you wanna curl up with a soft toy even if you are not a soft toy kind of a person.

Upset at being 'left all alone' while being admitted at the hospital. Only a pimple to give me company. SMH

When the chemistry of pregnancy took a back seat (read, hormones), the physics came into play (read, center of gravity and such). By the last lap, the 9th month, I couldn't remember life without the bump.  Like really, no bump? Wearing something and finding it loose on you, what was that like? Getting up after sitting on the floor, without assistance or without applied knowledge of gravitational physics? And when you do get up, none of the the trippy dizzy postural hypotension? No endless trips to the washroom? I could paint my toe nails? Scratch my ankles? How must it feel to walk 500 meters without being breathless? Or what was it like to sleep on my tummy or even my back? Or turning to a side without waking up and consciously executing it? Or not having a constant back ache or exhausted feet? 

When the physical unpleasantness leaves you free, the mind starts with its games. Random thoughts cross your mind: Elephants are pregnant for TWO whole years? MAN they’re strong; those lady-elephants. Just imagine how bloody boring would it be- ‘so what’re you doing for New Years this year, Sammy? Pregnant. Next year? Still pregnant. Ok then (awkward silence).’

At the time, the best thing was to vent it out with fellow pregnant women. Only we could understand each other. The whole other world just didn't get the minor nuances of a glorious pot belly. It was only with them that one could secretly confess the botheration, without the fear of judgement and being a wimp about a temporary condition.  Apart from being excited about meeting the baby, one would secretly rejoice about 'the bump having completed its purpose'. Or lets just say 'Yay! Congratulations on becoming a mother... and being DONE with the pregnancy!' I'm just going to roll over and sleeeeeep on my 

tummy. Like the way God intended it!

Body, Where are You?

7 months pregnant.

I parked my car snugly between two cars and was happy at my precision. I really didn't get why people think women can't park. I attempted to get out. It took me 10 seconds of awkward struggle with the car to realize that I would not fit through the narrow space.

By the 9th month, banging into the dining table much before anticipated was normal. So was opening the fridge door into my bump, accidentally knocking things off the table, walking into the sink, etc. I was like those 'hit-me' toys with a lowered center of gravity.

Mentally, my body was still 53ish and not shy of 70! Sleeping on my back or tummy or on my right side or without 4 pillows seemed like sweet, distant memory. Simple things become a luxury when you don't get to do it. Like, wearing heels or being able to tie my shoelaces or touch my ankles, or not feeling like a penguin.

None of this seemed like a burden though. It seemed more like a short lived inconvenience. I had blind faith in my old friend, metabolism. I was so sure I would bounce back to my pre-pregnancy weight and be able to wear jeans with a zip, in no time. Plus, the bump looked so cute. Just like Zoo-Zoo's. Everyone smiles at you with a motherly warmth and helps out. Strangers open doors, give their seats to you, you don't have to stand in a queue especially if you're standing at the food counter at the movies. People clear out of the way as though you're a Princess or as though you're armed. You're in a happy bubble as round as your belly.

But yeh bump aate hue jitna accha lagta hai, jate hue utna bura! The shriveled, raisin look was not working for me. No no no. At least give me back a wrinkle free tummy? Huh, nature? Looking at my tummy would be my least favorite and at the same time oddly hilarious thing to do. That top that you bought when you didn't know you were expecting doesn't fit you anymore. Forget fitting, it gets stuck while you try to wear it and you're caught in this embarrassing neither in nor out situation, funny, yet you can't laugh, stuck and you can't breathe. You throw it away and your new body smiles at you sheepishly while you look at that top apologetically. How humbling can it be! There was no scope of vanity in my postpartum appearance. Jelly tummy, constellation of pimples on the face, a gait similar to hip-replacement patient. If this wasn't humbling, I don't know what could be.

How long can you fret about something which is not in your control at that moment? One forms such a sense of identity with physical appearance that to disconnect you from your form becomes difficult. You want to work out but your stitches won't have any of that non sense. You want to watch what you eat but your appetite and well-brought up taste buds revolt against it. Good meaning people keep saying that it took 9 months to get here, give yourself a year before you get back. 

Resigned to the current scheme of things, sitting slumped with my flab keeping me cozy, one fine moment, it dawned on me like some sort of a maturity lightening that struck me out of nowhere. My face, my body, my bones too will change eventually but my personality, and my basic human nature will be unscathed by the surgeon's knife. Enhance that. Invest there; make it so solid that, that is what you rely on the most. Build yourself with things that only get better with time.  That is what you associate yourself with the most. That is where you draw your sense of self and your identity from, right now you can't avoid this so face it the best way you can, get your game face on... and in the meantime, put down that ladoo and workout fatty.

PS: Metabolism, my friends, can we talk? Please don’t break up with me!

I Don't Wanna Mommy Today

I Don't Want to Mommy Today

I LOVE my kids. Who doesn’t? But I want some time off.

I just want to sip my hot coffee, slowly, with a slurp even.

I want to roll in bed half asleep refusing to wake up and waking up only when I am tired of sleeping. Yes, tired of sleeping was phrase that I knew too well.

I want to speak a complete sentence without being interrupted.

I want to wear shoes with laces and have time to tie those laces.

I want to take a long shower even though I wasn’t a long shower kind of person.

I want to eat with both hands, using cutlery and table manners and not have someone pick into my plate, hang on my shoulders or pull my hair.

I want my room, my little heavenly place, my sanctuary, spic and span and without toys for a change.

I want to wear a dress that remains clean for more than 3 minutes.

I want to drive at the speed I like and listen to LOUD music without the worry of waking anyone up.

I also don’t want to responsible all the time.

I want to swear when I am pissed off and not worry about being mimicked or have the shame of setting a bad example and not having my shit together.

I want my eyes to wander where they want or even stare into space and not watch over toddler play.

I want a li’l freedom from worrying about meals and snacks and playtime and activity. I want to read a book (not a parenting one).

I want to comb my hair (Should be higher up in the list).

I want to paint my nails in one go.

I want to carry a small clutch and have my necessary outings' belonging fit into it. Just for a day. ONE day. Not more than that at all.

Because then I miss the constant chatter of ‘mamma mamma mamma mamma’ in a cute toddler voice.

I miss the bright smile on seeing me like I am something very special.

I miss the duckling like behaviour of following the Mamma duck everywhere.

I miss the joy he finds in small things (OMG OMG a bucket a mug and waterrrr!!)

I miss the enthusiasm he has for new revelations, OH MY GOD, she opened the tap there, and water came out here, at the end of the hose!!).

I miss the tiny hands holding mine.

I miss the tiny feet trying to stand on mine.

I miss the absolute thrill of him thinking he has tricked me and has found the perfect hiding place behind the curtains, and I definitely cannot see his feet from underneath.

I miss the hands behind the back, half-walk, half-jog when I try to catch him with my mock run.

I miss the endless love he shares with me for LEGO.

I miss the bewildered look of ‘where am I?’ when he wakes up and then the loving, smile of acknowledgement on seeing me.

I miss the soft hands searching for me even while asleep to get some sense of comfort and security.

I miss the responsibility, the purpose of being this new Mom-me.

It’s like this; how boring would Batman find to be just Bruce Wayne after living a life of a superhero. The plain stuff just gets boring. Coffee? Pfft, anyone can have coffee. Try having coffee with a toddler insisting you make him wear his shirt NOW while the baby at the arm tries to sip your coffee. Now that’s skill.

Kaddu bana diya hai by God in bacchon ne. I wanna be a Mommy.

Hormonal Cocktail (Part 1)

Your body is not your own the minute the line turns pink. It's like a caution signal- you'll never be alone. It is a BIG responsibility and the first time you become a mom, it can be quite overwhelming. The world moves around doing its own thing as though nothing has changed but for you, nothing in your world is the same.

From that moment on, you're always pregnant. It's not like a pair of uncomfortable yet gorgeous high heels that you can take off, flex your tired feet, wear again and feel awesome and ready. Nope. You're always with that little seedling in you. When you breathe, walk, talk, shower, when you exhaust yourself shopping, while cooking, while others are partying and you're sipping your lemonade... you are always pregnant and liable. One doesn't know real responsibility and consequence like you do now. You can knowingly test the limits of your body, work out a bit more, eat junk food, party hop till late and be careless here and there. When you're becoming a mother, the pregnancy guilt comes free along with the pregnancy and you can’t take day a off from it. You have to grow up in a day (or minute) and the world can still be footloose and fancy free. But everybody around you doesn't seem to get the gravity of the situation. They can't figure out what happened to you. Where did the ‘live each day’, ‘carpe diem’ person vanish? Why are you sitting at a party like 60s goodie two shoes and sipping tumeric latte? B.e.c.a.u.s.e. The responsible new mom can't handle the guilt of anything harming your little, even microscopic baby. In fact, one does everything better than ever because only you are in charge now.

The world gets divided into 2- The Pregnant, and The Un-Pregnant. Your single friends, newlyweds, etc are all in the other half along with your husband sipping some delicious drinks wondering what the fuss is all about. And you're here, with your sober pregnant friends, tch-tching, shaking your heads on why they don't get it. (And how funny people look when drunk). Conversations became frequent with fellow pregnant people and dominated by pregnancy talk- 'how was the visit to Dr. S? Started folic acid? BabyCenter said my baby is the size of a papaya by now. Yup, I downloaded the baby Mozart App. Apparently the pregnancy glow kicks in only in the second trimester....’ Even if mentally you're symptom free, physically embarrassing giveaways (hello nausea and such) remind you that you're not alone.

Mentally one becomes such a cocktail of hormones that even though I had been 'me' for 28 years of my life, I couldn't figure out whether my emotions are 'me' or 'hormones'. Welling up on sensitive, family kinda advertisements (that one about the grand-mom bringing in food for her sick grandson in the hospital), calling mom again and telling her how much I love her, calling mom in law and asking her to visit NOW, finding newer, deeper meanings to sappy songs, finding new love for old friends and expressing it (uncomfortably) too often, discovering new worries, imagining new fears. What a pot boiling time!

And then my favorite target, The Good Chap who had promised, for better or for worse. Even though we'd known each other for 10 years by now, he couldn't have imagined this kinda roller-coaster. Every day was a new day.
Sometimes high energy- 'lets listen to loud music, dance, then walk, then maybe a swim, then we'll go to the market, then we'll cook together, then we'll watch a movie (reality- watched movie, ordered food). 
Sometimes, my dark broody side- 'what is the world coming to? Have you seen how polluted the air is? There are famines happening! Girls aren't safe in our country. My maid didn't come today. The oranges we bought were sour. There isn't one decent politician'.
Sometimes tears- 'we are so lucky to have such lovely parents, the neighbor’s dog died, why do you have night duty today? Omg I love my sister, omg you're the best husband.  Sometimes cannon fire- 'you said you'll be back in an hour, it’s been 4 hours! Is badminton that important? When will you accompany me for a walk? Do you listen to what I say? WHY is the weather so warm? That day you said such and such, the tone was horrible'. 
I'd be sitting patiently, waiting, fuming, and then unleashing my new found anger on him, or waiting for him to wipe away my wimpy tears and make the world seem like a better place or just be. He was the cause of and solution to all my problems. Glorious days!

And this was just the first 3 months...

No kiddin'. Mom is a person TOO!

One of the best tangents of becoming a parent is seeing your own parents in new light. (This is me adulting). While searching for some good pictures of my kids with me I came across old pictures of my parents as new parents. In the pictures, they were the same age that I am today. 

     

If I could time travel, I'd be at one of their house parties, wearing bell-bottom trousers, slightly moving to ABBAs playing in the background.

My parents as new parents

I've seen these pictures a 100 times growing up. And the focus has always been to look at how my sister or I looked as a kid. But today all I could see was them. New parents' glow. Celebrating first birthdays, balloons and streamers put up by dad, beautifully decorated homemade cakes and snacks by mom and a fussy cranky toddler. Precious. No amount of money can buy the effort that went into planning and executing that party. None of the artificial looking fondant cakes or birthday parties at posh hotels can ever match what Mom made and organised.

I saw bright, colourful happiness in black and white pictures. My parents celebrating parenthood moments with such fondness; baby massages, first time Nani, a young Dad managing to fit his daughter in his strong muscular forearm. A young Mom, looking gorgeous, was smiling brightly with a baby, rounder than her, clinging to her arm.

For the first time in all these years, I could relate more with the people my parents were than the parents they've always been. They too like us would've been putting their best foot forward (for us) despite being exhausted (by us). They would've dreamed like we do today of what we'll become and how we'll turn out. They too would've worried themselves sick when we were sick. My god, Mom Dad are people too. Just like us. Why didn't I ever see that earlier? Why do I always expect them to have more patience, more love, more forgiveness, more everything than me?

Today when I see them as grandparents, I get a glimpse of what they would've been with us when we were babies. How they would've pacified us, fed us, cheered at our little milestones, entertained us, lulled us to sleep. And how after a long tiring day of handling us, they would've still been smiling and considering it worth it.

Left: My dad with his first born
Right: My Dad with his first grandchild

My Parents, now Grandparents

Same enthusiasm years later

Left: My Nani as a first time Nani.
Right: My mom as a first time Nani

If I could time travel, I'd be at one of their house parties, wearing bell-bottom trousers, slightly moving to ABBAs playing in the background and telling them what wonderful parents they are going to be.

Word

Enhance yourself.

Image courtesy
Thebrocode.in

Happy Birthday

I just saw a 4 minute video of a complete ceaserian section. I thought it would be the ideal way to celebrate my first born son's second birthday. Reminiscence.

Within the first minute I was holding back the extreme urge to puke. But the will to not ruin a mommy moment overpowered my gut reflex. Even in the 'bloody' video 4 minutes seemed like ages! Ew and the blood, the slicing, the gore.

Wow we reallllly handle newborns like they're made of wax, look at the confident, matter of fact, swift movements of the doc with the baby who is still halfway out of the oven (so to say).

The baby in the video made its first sound. Its first feel of the outside world. Welcome little one.

In an instant my face relaxed with a smile. The same lil noise of life that changed mine forever. The video wasn't gory at all.

Love love love!

Grass is green

It was a gooood day to just roll on the grass. With my toddler around I get to relive my childhood without looking silly!

2008 v/s 2016

2008 V/S 2016

Waking Up

2008: '5 more minutes please Mom' snooze that goes on for much more than 5 times 5 minutes. Lounge around in bed and then wake up to my favorite music playing loudly.

2016: Slap, pinch, clobber. Either one of the two kids take turns to check if mommy is still in bed or has she sneaked out. Either one of the kids is handed out to my Mom and the other one is further pacified or negotiated with for '5 more minutes please kiddo'.

Getting Ready

2008: 10 minutes flat. Get up, shower, get ready, and step out. It is the same for any given day. +/- 10 mins for makeup fiascos and wardrobe settlements.

2016: Bathe the Toddler: 'please don't eat the soap, here, these are bath toys, yup that's a green duck, yes it's a weird choice of colour for a duck, no I don't give a duck about the duck's colour', negotiate getting out of the bucket, 'bye bucket, bye mug! Okay sure, bye potty'. Sing songs while making him wear clothes, else he'll realise what’s happening’. Make him wear his left shoe, then right shoe, please don’t remove your shoe, find left shoe, please don't remove the right shoe too, wear left shoe again.

Bathe the Baby: Baby has a motor sense that even he doesn't know about, which goes into excitement mode on discovering his hands or catching hold of his feet.

Finally, my turn. Try having a bath while ignoring the thoughts and noises in my head and the noises outside. Did I hear a cry? A crash? What if the elder one bites the younger one? What if the younger one rolls over?  5 minutes flat.

Total time taken: 1 hour (on a good day).

Getting Out

2008: Grab your phone, wallet, keys. Get in the car. Done.

2016: Phone, wallet, keys, car seat, water bottle, snack tiffin, meal tiffin, teether, board books for bored kid in car ride, nursing cover, diaper bag, baby carrier, stroller. I think I am missing something.

Heading out of the house without the kid(s) feels odd and empty, like someone has pressed a mute button... You can see things moving but the background score is missing. Apart from that one feels guilty. What if the kids are both crying? What if they both woke up? How will mom handle them alone? This is just selfish. I should head back. Maybe I should call them. What if my call wakes them up? Then I'm the ass. Damn it. I should've got at least one kid along.

Other scenario:

ALL ON-BOARD.

March down to the car looking like a small army unit. Attach the car seat, seat the baby, strap the toddler, and seat yourselves. Breathe. Say a lil prayer. Done.

Eating Out

2008: Lazily study the menu. Bring out the foodie in me and let her enjoy being spoilt for options. Talk over food about ideas, ideals, gossip, fads; movies... build fancy castles in air. Eat using both hands, cutlery and table manners. Savour each dish and give it the appreciation it deserves.

2016: Order what your trusted friend thinks is nice there, just make sure its non veg. Negotiate, plead, bribe the baby into sitting in the pram/stroller/high chair/baby seat. Do a happy dance if agreed. Gulp down food and drinks like you’re on the Amazing Race of food sans cutlery and manners. Talk over food about new habits, new milestones, parenting ideals and principles, the latest pissing-off thing someone said to you about your child/parenting style, get saturated with kid-talk, and divert to other topics.. er.. realise you don’t know what other things are happening in the world. Oh, food’s done.

Superhero Skills

2008 Level: Ordinary person.

2016 Level: MOM

I've got so used to having a kid at the arm that if both my hands are free I feel my body is underutilized. I have cooked a meal, watered plants, changed clothes, and loaded a collapsed pram into a car trunk etc, with baby in one arm. I’ve carried a baby, car seat, bag full of groceries, handbag, toddler shoes and phone in one trip from the car to our first floor house. Yup, did look funny. Nope, baby didn’t laugh, doesn’t have that kind of sense of humour yet.

Patience

2008: I think I am a patient person. (lol, that’s cute. You know nothing yet)

2016: Patient enough to see my prim and proper room in a constant mess of toys, half eaten food, wrinkled, jumped on bed. Patient enough to watch my toddler immensely enjoying himself while eating dosa dipped in water. Patient enough to clean the kitchen slab yet again, to pick up the toys once more, to answer each question every time with somewhat the same enthusiasm and interest. To hell with patience, I enjoy this stuff. I dig it. Love it. 2008 me would be flipping over about this. Not me.

The Person

I am the same person I have always been, this new side of me had not debuted till now. I thought I would not be able to extend into this role easily. There were so many things 2008 me thought I’d be horrible at, like talking to toddler, being able to get that giggle out of them, to be goofy and cheery and not fake it. 2016 (more confident about this) me doesn’t look back to see if my toddler is laughing at my goofs or laughing at someone standing behind me. I know that the throaty giggle is for my pretend-sneeze, or funny face. When my toddler comes running to me when sleepy or hurt, I derive as much comfort from our hug as much as he does, maybe more.

Something about these small tiny humans just inspires a change. A change is so subtle, so gradual, it sneaks up on you very slowly and before you know it, you’re someone else or a different version of yourself, (H 1.1 has been updated to H2.0, get it? Get it?). And surprisingly enough you love it. You can’t imagine yourself being any other way.

My 2 yr old just had a phone conversation with another 2 yr old. THIS is the kinda stuff that I didn’t get earlier. WHAT was so exciting about hearing ‘a cow goes? Moooo, a cat goes? Meowwww’ was beyond 2008 me. But 2016 me finds this stuff ridiculously cute, ‘Did you hear how he said, tomatototo?... Hi Massi, he wanted to say hi to you so I called’. I was the kind of person who’d stress-text her sister in irritation mixed with panic when there were too many kids on a flight/train. And I am now the person who has fed her baby unabashedly throughout the flight to calm the baby, not to quiet the baby. Babies cry, deal with it.

I’d see a baby amidst a tantrum, crying loudly, stomping feet, tears flowing and snot visible and I’d empathize the troubled mom. Today I see such a scene and all I can think is that poor baby, at a confusing, overwhelming age. Li’l cute baby doesn’t know better, he/she will obviously feel lost in this big world.

2008 me will be in stunned silence over the disbelief of what’s become of me. I think she’ll be proud after the initial shock settles. And the 2016 me is just rolling in laughter at how bloody naive I was.

Looking Back 3 (Walk Like an Egyptian)

T+1 Day, Post Operative Room.

The nurse came in by 6:30 pm, Ma'am, you'll need to walk a little and then we can wheelchair you to your room. Pfft, wheelchair. I am not that unwell. I've endured kidney stones 4 times, how tough can this be?

My in-laws and parents were in my room already, chirpy, enjoying their best and latest promotion to grandparents. My mom was nursing her own leg fracture and yet, hopping around playing the perfect host as usual. My dad I'm sure would be reading the newspaper, my father in law, asking the doc when I can have some fresh juice and my mum in law super excited at the little dude. Thrilling, exciting times. The husband had gone to visit a colleague at another ward, and my loyal sister, by my side. (Mom wasn't allowed. She has a tendency to faint on seeing me in pain.. er.. tried and tested). Ah, the good life. So pampered, so special.

Let's go! Okay, I'm just going to get up from the bed like this and...! Oh my GOD! Labour pains, I miss you. What the hell? Wasn't the worse over? Them stitches. I wouldn't even wish this for Joffrey Baratheon (no, correction, I would). I couldn't get up. I looked at my sister in disbelief, is this me? I didn't realise how much we need our abdomen for basic body movement. My sister, looking like she saw alien invasion on the planet, tried her level best to be brave and helped me sit up. The maid was amazingly patient given that this happens often. You know, this is what they should tell women about pregnancy, the aftermath. The shitty stuff. I couldn't muster the strength to talk. I took what seemed like hours to get my tush, tubes and drips ET AL, off the bed and on the wheelchair.

Onward! Here's a suggestion. One should make shock absorbing wheelchairs. That's a market waiting to boom. I could tell the slightest of bump on the nearly perfect floor while being wheeled. The stitches inside mapped their extent in pain. Excruciating pain. I entered my room among loud cheers and Yays from my darling Punjabi family and they stopped midway on seeing my piss-off expression. Why so happy y'all?! My mom rushed to my side as soon as she could manage with her leg in a cast and I was parked as close to the bed as possible. Even in my half-dead half-pain-rage state I noticed my husband wasn't around. I slowly tried to get up. Hunched, like the hunchback from Notre-Dame, and bloated thanks to all the drips. 

I took one step. 

Satnam Waheguru. 

Another ant-like-step. 

Please, God, I'll be good. Make it easier. 

One more tiny step. 

Slugs move faster than this. 

And I hear my Dad say, 'Doll, whats wrong baccha, stand straight, walk properly.' I stopped, moved my head (that part didn't hurt), shot him a sarcastic angered look and continued my art-movie-slow-paced movement towards the bed. With every bit of strength squeezed out of my bones I managed to get up the big, M.H. special beds and sit.

The nurses entered. 'Good ma'am you've reached your room! Great, now you can feed your baby'. Ya right, PLEASE get me a painkiller shot. My family now in stunned, awkward silence didn't know how to react. Mom had that look where she is half crying half trying to be her bravest best. Dad finding this way too unfair, why does MY daughter have to go through this, not fair, not good, get the doc. My sister (unmarried at that time) I'm sure, scarred for life.

Military Hospital and Moms' hospitality

Calmly, casually enters my husband like he just took a nice stroll in the garden, 'hi sweety, what happened? You look a bit tensed?'

How to be a Mom- For Dummies

My husband is an instinctive parent. I could watch him play with D for hours. THAT he can play with D for hours, is a feature enough to amaze me. He becomes a goofy baby with a baby, a noisy playful toddler with a toddler and an interesting gamer with a teenager. He can actually modify his level of intellect/interaction to match the kid at hand. That is brilliant in my mind. All I can manage with a kid of any age is, 'Hi!!!...' silence.. 'er... what is your name??!!!' ...er... okay, then. *start looking for a bail out* Before my kid, I would hold a baby as though it were a ticking time bomb. Nervous, cautious and willing to hand it over to anyone and head for the adults' conversations. 

When we got home, the first few days were quite unnerving. How could they just hand me over this tiny life and expect me to manage it? There is no school to learn this from. Babies don't come with a user manual. I became a complete nerd Mom. At every step I would doubt myself and would run to blogs, internet search and online support groups for my queries. I read about breastfeeding, made log entries about feeds and pees, read about sleep management, music for babies, developmental milestones and even the colours of poop.

On the other hand, The Husband could do everything for D (other than nursing) and probably better than me. (I'm using the word 'probably' to give some room for my mother's ego). He could make D sleep, change diapers, bathe him and make him giggle heartily while doing all of this. D's face would light up on seeing his father. He'd flap his hands and feet like an upturned seal and make funny noises to show his happiness on seeing his dad.

On one regular visit to the doc, my friend and I happened to be there together. As usual, we were full of First-Time-Mom questions to the doc, 'he cries while weeing, he slept too much at night, he didn't burp this one time..' and our doc, only too familiar with our current hypochondriac-like situation calmly looked up and said, 'you know these things you should be able to answer by your mother's instinct.. which should have kicked in by now'.

Excuse me, what? Mother's instinct? Isn't that just for the movies and books? My friend and I glanced at each other, smiled a nod at the doc, stepped out and discussed how lost we were! I was so worried that I am going to screw things up as a mom, that I squished any instinct with theoretical knowledge and compromised my confidence as a mother. 

Then. On one particularly sunny day, we had a 4 hours long drive with 4 month old, D sleeping in he car seat comfortably. He slept, didn't nurse and slept some more. I thought, like father like son, 5 mins into a drive and they doze off like, well, a baby. After sometime, it didn't seem right. I kept trying to nurse him, to wake him up, but he would just look up and doze off. 

He's sleepy, let him be. 

I secretly kept checking his breathing, like I always do. 

Sweety please, you'll go mad. 

When a child is nursed on demand, he doesn't go this long without a feed. 

If he's hungry, he'll wake up- is the golden rule. We got home and a nagging feeling was tugging in me. 

Don't be so over anxious. Everything is okay. 

Something is off. 

Nothing is off. 

And D started screaming, a new cry, and I knew, I just knew.. that it is dehydration. 

I called the doc, he explained what to do and soon enough D was nursing like a new born. All's good again. 

I got my Mom swag on. Walked around with a smug smile and proud gait. Who's the Mom now eh!! Jo Maa hai na, woh Maa hoti hai! 

*MOM OUT!*

Looking Back -2 (Labour Day)

Dr. S, nonchalant, serious, accusing-me-of-being-over-anxious, my doc was confident that I would have an easy peasy natural delivery. I think he secretly hoped for a quick baby to avoid my usual question bombardment during routine check ups (First Time Mom Syndrome!).

Every mother will remember her delivery. Or at least these days when women have 0-3 kids at an average. We all love talking about our deliveries; often discussing the similarities, the bravado we showed, the staff that handled us, the recovery and the ugly shriveled tummy we endowed later. Frankly, there should be a statute of limitations on how many times (to one person- I have friends who can tell my delivery story better than me.. sorry guys) and for how many years after delivery should one be allowed to talk about it.

Here is my turn. To make it easy for a new prey to avoid my story I can just direct them here and save the effort of having to politely hear about my journey. 

I was admitted at the MH on Friday the 13th, June 2014 (the irony of the date just dawned on me). I often, proudly tell people that I was so active during my pregnancy that I was shooting hoops with my Dad on a day before getting admitted. A fact which is absolutely useless considering that all the activeness in the world didn't matter in front of destiny. 

Dr. S was happy with my progress and he thought I would deliver by morning... er.. Nope.
My sister, who was accompanying me, and I both barely got any sleep all night. By morning, I was induced and put on a glucose drip. Saturday was Operation day at the M.H. so we knew that one way or another, we will meet the baby today.

I was kept in the labour room throughout the day and I experienced some pains which I was told was contractions. In my head I was laughing at them, smugly. This? Pain? HA! I could do this in my sleep. I must be having ninja powers because this feels so mild. They glorify the pains in the movies. Wow, I have some kick-ass pain threshold. Bring it on. I'll sneeze and the baby will slip out. 

Sneaking out of the labour room

My sister and I would take turns to sneak in and out to chit chat and emotionally blackmail her to giving me some 5 star chocolates. Once I evaded the nurse; drips on both hands, under the pretext of going to the loo and ran and met The Husband. Felt like school! 

The beep of the NST machine, the blank walls and the slowwww moving clock got really dull especially when the REAL pains didn't kick in to keep me busy. Outside the room, everything was bustling! Dada Dadi on their way from Delhi, The Husband (already) buying sweets, Didi nervously devising plans on surpassing the nurse and Mom Dad managing the scene at home.

By 6 P.M. Dr. S looked concerned. Induction of labour didn't work. Long story short. The Husband and the doc took the decision of going in for a operation against my pre-labour-pain bravado on insisting that I will wait for natural delivery. I didn't even get time to process what this entails and before I knew it, the staff was prepping me for the operation while I was simultaneously experiencing labour pains which suddenly decided to make an appearance at the party. 

Lets just say I now know how and why the phrase 'Mother of all...' came into being. Till now I was calling out for my husband when I'd experience any pain. And now all I could shout was 'MOM!!!' THIS is labour pain? No shit. No body was kidding. These are sent from hell. How does one expect a normal human to handle this? Why would one willingly go through this? How is it that we are facing population explosion? This was the mother of all pains. Apparently my cries were so loud that my naive, First Time Dad, husband thought that I have delivered.

Within minutes I was wearing a unflattering patient's gown, a messy plait and sitting in our loyal blue car next to my nervously smiling husband and my visibly nervous sister. I could see my pain reflected in her eyes. She had the same look she has when she sees a dead puppy and can do nothing about it. Besides her was The Husband behaving like a happy person having an anxiety attack. 

Soon I was in the OT, bustling with clinking noises, lots of strange eyes and masked faces. The good man, the anesthetist said, 'Ma'am, you'll feel a slight prick'. I had just gone through another contraction and in the lull, I managed a smirk at the use of the word 'slight prick'. 'I believe you haven't been through labour, please bring on the prick.. Just numb me NOW!'

It. Was. Like. MAGIC. God Bless the darling people who carefully figured- this fluid, in this vertebrae & voila! no pain. And boy, was I happy. I was chatting with my main surgeon and my gynecologist as though they're at my place for a cup of tea and not cutting me open and pulling my baby out. 

Finally, I heard the cry. 'A boy's cry' I said but the docs fancied keeping it a surprise a little longer. I am smiling as I type this because I can close my eyes anytime and clearly see my son for the first time. Bright, wide-eyed, tiny and scanty hair. 

The newest member of the family was whisked away by the oldest members of the family to the ward and my Dad, my husband and my sister stayed back while I was being patched up. In my new found happiness (owing to the numbness of pain) I was profusely thanking a very stunned audience(OT staff), for taking the time out and coming for my operation. Outside the OT, my concerned husband asked the surgeon about my well being; 'Oh don't worry about her! She's happily chatting and is worried about the baby's hair!'

Hello New Feeling

I have never  been a baby person. Kids do not fascinate me. I categorically do not understand or know how to play with children or entertain them or interact with them.

Naturally, I was very worried about my mothering skills and my 'mamta' so to say. I was slowly resigning to the fact that I'll probably be a dutiful parent at best. The one who does the 'work'- make food, clean the kids and the house, change clothes and diapers; basically, take care of needs. And Dad would be the fun parent, the one the kids bond with and have a good time around.

'Mother's bond', 'Maternal instinct' etc sounded like words bouncing off from maternity wards to make women like me feel worse (presuming there are more like me). Children don't come with a user manual, else I'd have read it cover to cover. I wondered when will that instinct kick in with me.. all the other hormones have!

Until that first vaccination.
The good people researching vaccines should really make these as easy as eating candy. All was going well till the vaccines kicked in and my little baby started crying- like never before. 

Got introduced to new cries and a new me. Watching him howl in pain, a helpless little human, was more heart wrenching than I was prepared for. I couldn't fathom who was more helpless, him or me. I couldn't eat or sit still or smile or even get distracted.

It dawned on me that life will never be the same again. I will never be the same again. My heart strings have crawled out sneakily and attached themselves to the well being of my baby.

It was a happy realization that THIS is Bond. Mother's Bond. (or the start or it).