tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85853886898769865952024-03-05T02:12:38.413-08:00PinkCamouflageCaffeine generated thoughts.pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-1795107038688457212020-07-01T04:50:00.003-07:002020-07-02T01:49:37.204-07:00What's the Biggest Flaw of Being a Parent?<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><b><u><font size="5"></font></u></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><font size="5"><br /></font></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><font size="5"><br /></font></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><font size="5"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><u><font size="5">What's the biggest flaw of being a parent?</font></u></b></font></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><font size="5"><br /></font></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><font size="5"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFmNltb-n5aU5oxUYjIq91dp0f41UkBzOWjZVoAML0NH9OJkfiq8d6gvhkDQEh98xfYNtKnMb8ImH_POYYeWPEgrvi4x8F9eBqfLTTFpHE16MYFQ9fVmZtUBifmlhLVQvWpcXzDswMjQ/s1133/20200701_170430.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFmNltb-n5aU5oxUYjIq91dp0f41UkBzOWjZVoAML0NH9OJkfiq8d6gvhkDQEh98xfYNtKnMb8ImH_POYYeWPEgrvi4x8F9eBqfLTTFpHE16MYFQ9fVmZtUBifmlhLVQvWpcXzDswMjQ/s320/20200701_170430.jpg" /></a></font></u></b></div><b><u><font size="5"><br /></font></u></b><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><b><u><font size="5"><br /></font></u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The fact that you can't suffer on behalf of your kids. You can't ache
instead of them, you can't take their pain, their illness and their heartaches.
Even after your best efforts to keep them safe and healthy, they will fall
sick. You'll have to watch them cry in pain, their eyes sullen in sickness,
body weak while you just stand there perfectly physically normal and helpless.
Severely helpless. How can that be fair? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">So then you pray. Mechanically moving and taking action. Running from
doctors to tests to medicines. Wondering why I can't have an umbilical cord to
attach and transfer the illness to me instead. Why can't every mother be like
Lily Potter who protected Harry with her love. Wouldn't it be just fantastic to
have a strong force shield around our kids to save them from all flues, bad
vibes and such? I mean, frikken Voldemort couldn't do anything. and here a
microscopic bacteria has created havoc.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Such a flaw. They were so safe in the womb. Illnesses were mine, injuries
were mine. If I ate junk food, the nutrition (however little) was theirs, the junk was mine.
Stupid, bloody birth. Now they have to live in this big bad world, unguarded
from bad people and bad viruses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Even something as 'small and routine' as a blood test of a nearly 4 year
old broke my heart into a million pieces. What was I supposed to say when he
looked up at me and said, "Mumma why?? It hurts so much!!'...</span><i>I don't know kiddo... I wish it were me instead</i>. My eyes were watching the docs and nurses like a hawk.
<i>Why is an intern allotted to me? How DARE she tell my kid to behave better and
take the med. doesn't she know he has 104 temp! has she even tasted how bad the
medicine is? does she even know what a good, docile li'l angel my baby is?
Stupid girl. Where is the doc? What if this is something serious that gets
neglected?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And in all this, one has to be brave, in-charge, and take action. Which
hospital, which doc, what medicine, food and pee logs, don't worry kiddo, mommy
is in charge. she's totally in control and super brave, nothing to worry, no
bad scenarios running in her head. She’s calm positive, reassuring, even trying
to fake an upbeat vibe. Yeah sure. You can't let them sense or smell your
anxiety or fear or know how truly <i>fattu</i> you are when it comes to them. I am
their iron strong pillar of strength, someone they can turn to when in trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Then comes the guilt. One thinks of every simple demand one turned down,
every mess I got angry at, every blunder I might have made that got him here. Maybe because I didn't wash his hands the 17th time it got dirty? Maybe it was
the sugarcane juice? Maybe I didn't notice and he was wearing a semi wet tee
shirt? Maybe maybe maybe... I need a reason, a cause that I can avoid the next
time... It has to be like maths. Left equals right and there is no scope for
error or chance or variables. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I keep going down the rabbit hole, crossing the corridors of guilt, gloom,
regret, despair... till I see the light at the end of the tunnel. <b>A smile</b>. The
best smile in the whole world. There couldn't be a better one. Then he says
something in a cheery voice, I can't seem to remember the words coz I'm smiling like a idiot in trance... my world is back again like it should be. He reaches for the mango that was brought in a
hope to cheer him up... and its all sunshine and roses again. His temperature
drops, and coincidentally, I noticed, its spring in the real world. Its not
dark and gloomy and the end of the world. There are beautiful colourful flowers
around, blue skies, bright sunshine too. What a perfect weather, he insists on
going outside and starts demanding a treat... life is good again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">(This was written in Spring 2018, my husband was away for work. My elder son was 4 and younger one was 2 and half years old.)</span></p>PS: I noticed, the tense in the article is horrible. (I'd like to apologize to half a dozen of my English teachers and to some, not all, of my Grammar Nazi friends... I know my membership will be revoked).pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-64407786396200657792016-12-07T22:39:00.002-08:002016-12-07T22:39:15.181-08:00Hormonal Cocktail (Part 2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2nd Trimester</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjnBDK5_jjkY0tpgSbf_Q4tpVhPgpHjyzBp6aAkmfdc5yK6J36isM9mmEE4wQzsCTBtjqOKQD_14qNK_9Wl5IeVBZSrKm9nc7WcJNKpBMkdzS0UEQ47r5rKXrBReVLcJjv9QZlCHlE5jI/s1600/IMG-20140326-WA0086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjnBDK5_jjkY0tpgSbf_Q4tpVhPgpHjyzBp6aAkmfdc5yK6J36isM9mmEE4wQzsCTBtjqOKQD_14qNK_9Wl5IeVBZSrKm9nc7WcJNKpBMkdzS0UEQ47r5rKXrBReVLcJjv9QZlCHlE5jI/s320/IMG-20140326-WA0086.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Representing a Fire Engine Truck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXr-oZpnjUza0EIgbk0Y_lSn7KdpFjNbWmSP6cctRbdNGeVxAgEeOj2j1EXkKZ3BuFgk8m0e_JCaAMZBA-GVr6uAs8WBex1T_8Qe0eZGCKymtRn6He2ITvyHfPpmgXKF_d_j5F5_XbNU/s1600/IMG-20140326-WA0131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXr-oZpnjUza0EIgbk0Y_lSn7KdpFjNbWmSP6cctRbdNGeVxAgEeOj2j1EXkKZ3BuFgk8m0e_JCaAMZBA-GVr6uAs8WBex1T_8Qe0eZGCKymtRn6He2ITvyHfPpmgXKF_d_j5F5_XbNU/s320/IMG-20140326-WA0131.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">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.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even the 7th month whizzed pass on some of the afterglow from the 2nd
trimester but the 8th month was relentless. </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">! Are you scared??!!). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">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.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-XSNXYDC31rlwJSyQhRbP0ZfXUNzPCQ3yK9jI2MA12pwuXb3awPY6FKzfpuCZTSZK3rZcwGacPGuF4RQzu-0_4i9p-sGrsr04LJCrRyPScyKvZdP88bztruVAqHp12iUfGzGJQawj30/s1600/IMG-20140512-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-XSNXYDC31rlwJSyQhRbP0ZfXUNzPCQ3yK9jI2MA12pwuXb3awPY6FKzfpuCZTSZK3rZcwGacPGuF4RQzu-0_4i9p-sGrsr04LJCrRyPScyKvZdP88bztruVAqHp12iUfGzGJQawj30/s320/IMG-20140512-WA0003.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upset at being 'left all alone' while being admitted at the hospital. Only a pimple to give me company. SMH</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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? </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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?<i> Pregnant</i>. Next year? <i>Still pregnant</i>. Ok then (awkward
silence).’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tummy. Like the way God intended it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-17811737627395566522016-11-19T01:25:00.000-08:002016-11-19T01:25:04.060-08:00Body, Where are You?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">7 months pregnant.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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. </span><i><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></i><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">How humbling can it be! There was n</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">o 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">PS: Metabolism, my friends, can we talk?
Please don’t break up with me!</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-69267043184337370122016-09-05T02:33:00.002-07:002016-09-05T02:33:08.435-07:00I Don't Wanna Mommy Today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I Don't Want to Mommy Today<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I LOVE my kids. Who doesn’t?
But I want some time off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I just want to sip my hot
coffee, slowly, with a slurp even. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to speak a complete
sentence without being interrupted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to wear shoes with
laces and have time to tie those laces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to take a long shower
even though I wasn’t a long shower kind of person. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want my room, my little
heavenly place, my sanctuary, spic and span and without toys for a change. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to wear a dress that
remains clean for more than 3 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to drive at the speed
I like and listen to LOUD music without the worry of waking anyone up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I also don’t want to
responsible all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want my eyes to wander
where they want or even stare into space and not watch over toddler play. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to comb my hair
(Should be higher up in the list). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I want to paint my nails in
one go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Because then I miss the
constant chatter of ‘mamma mamma mamma mamma’ in a cute toddler voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the bright smile on
seeing me<i> like I am something very special. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the duckling like
behaviour of following the Mamma duck everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the joy he finds in
small things (OMG OMG a bucket a mug and waterrrr!!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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!!). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the tiny hands
holding mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the tiny feet trying
to stand on mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the hands behind the
back, half-walk, half-jog when I try to catch him with my mock run. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the endless love he
shares with me for LEGO. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the bewildered look
of ‘where am I?’ when he wakes up and then the loving, smile of acknowledgement
on seeing me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the soft hands
searching for me even while asleep to get some sense of comfort and security. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">I miss the responsibility,
the purpose of being this new Mom-me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Kaddu bana diya hai by God
in bacchon ne. I wanna be a Mommy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-7032406339142380322016-08-12T02:35:00.000-07:002016-08-12T02:36:59.710-07:00Hormonal Cocktail (Part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">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.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">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 <i>tumeric
latte</i>? 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.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">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<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>why<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>they don't get it. (And how funny
people look when drunk). Conversations became frequent with fellow pregnant
people and dominated by pregnancy talk-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'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....’ </i>Even
if mentally you're symptom free, physically embarrassing giveaways (hello
nausea and such) remind you that you're not alone.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">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!</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And then my favorite target, <b>The Good
Chap</b> 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.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sometimes high energy-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'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<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>(reality- watched movie, ordered
food). </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sometimes, my dark broody side-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'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'.</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"></span>Sometimes tears-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'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.</i> Sometimes cannon fire-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>'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><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">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 <b><i>just be</i></b>. He was the cause of and
solution to all my problems. Glorious days!</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And this was just the first 3 months...</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-24212890065659415182016-06-18T23:25:00.000-07:002016-07-12T03:42:17.463-07:00No kiddin'. Mom is a person TOO!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">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. </span><br />
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<i style="font-family: 'bookman old style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">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.</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgfqnJIxOVaoPDoAuk8SJiW_pDoVhib6gMj262rdtoXqKbIvZo4vUqrrY1qNY4gejWRaylStTWh6Y2Kv04qZuo3mzQ7k2KSoRS1Xx-vTNSbARIZ8V7IYetxxyMM40R4wK8FXcSi2qwf0/s1600/dad11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgfqnJIxOVaoPDoAuk8SJiW_pDoVhib6gMj262rdtoXqKbIvZo4vUqrrY1qNY4gejWRaylStTWh6Y2Kv04qZuo3mzQ7k2KSoRS1Xx-vTNSbARIZ8V7IYetxxyMM40R4wK8FXcSi2qwf0/s320/dad11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My parents as new parents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YniiL75cI66FKP4htF3mdng66UbrVdzyXG83wHFdrmAdv50n5Kw_8GYaRB-SaNMahV8c1kgG0icjXNuwQ96CFkTrnmO4GmO0khaemb67m5t4fzWmcOzv2SfhocQ0gHNwrHoBYEYs26U/s1600/babbs0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YniiL75cI66FKP4htF3mdng66UbrVdzyXG83wHFdrmAdv50n5Kw_8GYaRB-SaNMahV8c1kgG0icjXNuwQ96CFkTrnmO4GmO0khaemb67m5t4fzWmcOzv2SfhocQ0gHNwrHoBYEYs26U/s200/babbs0018.jpg" width="200" /></a><i style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></i>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">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. <b>Precious.</b> 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.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyzd1tBBPocjg2rjm54IAHt4hV7-RzehzcwVDGgWZNdYM9rB7tJCPPgtOeNmgmP1eeG2I0D3oXhBMbjHFXcyjiK0vMdWJXCc63NZRVGzBucfw2WlWio_E_i51JHzlsYIonfyKmD2RZH4/s1600/didi2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyzd1tBBPocjg2rjm54IAHt4hV7-RzehzcwVDGgWZNdYM9rB7tJCPPgtOeNmgmP1eeG2I0D3oXhBMbjHFXcyjiK0vMdWJXCc63NZRVGzBucfw2WlWio_E_i51JHzlsYIonfyKmD2RZH4/s320/didi2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>For the first time in all these years, I could relate
more with the <i>people</i> my parents were than the parents they've always been.</b> 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? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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 </span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">still been smiling and considering it worth it.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcCCeOiE8G6AS5PKu-NPlAWXUww8dMO5G2E1Np7zcXZ54IdgwpPR4UbXqF79GANiahvlzL6h3xTb65MBlF0ysfwxjwo27RaplA692E5VAEfaaqnK6aaB_U2RP-bndxKilfv9zSy7tcoA/s1600/dad12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcCCeOiE8G6AS5PKu-NPlAWXUww8dMO5G2E1Np7zcXZ54IdgwpPR4UbXqF79GANiahvlzL6h3xTb65MBlF0ysfwxjwo27RaplA692E5VAEfaaqnK6aaB_U2RP-bndxKilfv9zSy7tcoA/s320/dad12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left: My dad with his first born<br />
Right: My Dad with his first grandchild</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfXtlZZce4OoIdNVKoIPTepHOCF0XsDtIDNXpLQ88Q32KJVARH8OAVX6fBjQD9xH9cGbHQwxvdKQnYNpSaSB8DHTgBi3MGD57yx3WfetGvJzShIQw5ihzWudTLj2CwbatEpPPHi_QuJw/s1600/DSC_0285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfXtlZZce4OoIdNVKoIPTepHOCF0XsDtIDNXpLQ88Q32KJVARH8OAVX6fBjQD9xH9cGbHQwxvdKQnYNpSaSB8DHTgBi3MGD57yx3WfetGvJzShIQw5ihzWudTLj2CwbatEpPPHi_QuJw/s200/DSC_0285.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Parents, now Grandparents</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNGczV9zg2aDQ8cqnXZpFDEEyIz_mSzSXot9KA2pGWtoARuW8PCeJCnbXmNEQVrBLC6_K-2-eaUqO7wnJs_GnauFxmXC13LMbwcqXvjxdnfUbkeGMxDEJffmtbuCCN17Nx_A80g2TPQ8/s1600/mom11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNGczV9zg2aDQ8cqnXZpFDEEyIz_mSzSXot9KA2pGWtoARuW8PCeJCnbXmNEQVrBLC6_K-2-eaUqO7wnJs_GnauFxmXC13LMbwcqXvjxdnfUbkeGMxDEJffmtbuCCN17Nx_A80g2TPQ8/s320/mom11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same enthusiasm years later</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSr3WkZs_jSnfelD8NgSKd__3VCoPOyOCbU8P48Da25IhwHGX13qCdAjzr7SRx8wiyLMhpR_MkjWWaKMeFp06UwrYelmASoLHTabq_7AwjpcJm9LOjjthuxGWEaAyJ5YAuW8JRPnYfYCI/s1600/nani1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSr3WkZs_jSnfelD8NgSKd__3VCoPOyOCbU8P48Da25IhwHGX13qCdAjzr7SRx8wiyLMhpR_MkjWWaKMeFp06UwrYelmASoLHTabq_7AwjpcJm9LOjjthuxGWEaAyJ5YAuW8JRPnYfYCI/s200/nani1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left: My Nani as a first time Nani. <br />
Right: My mom as a first time Nani</td></tr>
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<i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">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.</span></i></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-43119770045186742982016-06-18T06:01:00.001-07:002016-07-06T05:30:28.973-07:00Word<p dir="ltr">Enhance yourself.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Image courtesy <br>
<u>Thebrocode.in</u></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01vqI5TSUNGozBc3cvtQmYlV3UFjbUGsGqwlsRr4l_SUfY_TQJwz9D05e3pJN3GJC-e5OKPJtMKRQtiiYc1THNjUWSnug6pEebDWmELMCI54p76WwxBbgDOuB2LafU6AGGGD4v2N_KiE/s1600/Screenshot_2016-06-18-13-53-51-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01vqI5TSUNGozBc3cvtQmYlV3UFjbUGsGqwlsRr4l_SUfY_TQJwz9D05e3pJN3GJC-e5OKPJtMKRQtiiYc1THNjUWSnug6pEebDWmELMCI54p76WwxBbgDOuB2LafU6AGGGD4v2N_KiE/s640/Screenshot_2016-06-18-13-53-51-1.png"> </a> </div>pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-23079204232295515552016-06-15T11:47:00.001-07:002016-06-15T11:47:06.114-07:00Happy Birthday <p dir="ltr">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.</p>
<p dir="ltr">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. </p>
<p dir="ltr">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).</p>
<p dir="ltr">The baby in the video made its first sound. Its first feel of the outside world. Welcome little one.</p>
<p dir="ltr">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. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Love love love! </p>
pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-39136488046119143602016-06-08T01:49:00.001-07:002016-06-08T01:49:09.751-07:00Grass is green <p dir="ltr">It was a gooood day to just roll on the grass. With my toddler around I get to relive my childhood without looking silly! </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4eDBCbm78zS1YiTmznV-xfj0arzc8i1gwaj5FqdP1sRDJp3ZieYS-T_xLsf4zsskME5vrDYzVjTwtl-7trKNM8ubP1YaATXkogoTE0Ht5SVh3tPfR_ZZnzz8ljoQkpXjxOyTdIM535p0/s1600/2016-06-06%25252016.24.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4eDBCbm78zS1YiTmznV-xfj0arzc8i1gwaj5FqdP1sRDJp3ZieYS-T_xLsf4zsskME5vrDYzVjTwtl-7trKNM8ubP1YaATXkogoTE0Ht5SVh3tPfR_ZZnzz8ljoQkpXjxOyTdIM535p0/s640/2016-06-06%25252016.24.00.jpg"> </a> </div>pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-62699217823731773262016-05-23T01:55:00.000-07:002017-02-15T09:33:29.648-08:002008 v/s 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><u>2008 V/S 2016</u></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span lang="EN">Waking Up</span></b><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Getting Ready<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2016: Bathe the Toddler: <i>'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'</i>, negotiate getting out of the bucket,<i> 'bye bucket, bye mug! Okay sure, bye potty'</i>. Sing songs while
making him wear clothes, else he'll realise what’s happening’. Make him wear
his left shoe, then right shoe, <i>please
don’t remove your shoe</i>, find left shoe, <i>please don't remove the right
shoe too,</i> wear left shoe again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Total time taken: 1 hour (on a good day).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Getting Out<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2008: Grab your phone, wallet, keys. Get in the car. Done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Other scenario:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">ALL ON-BOARD. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Eating Out<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b style="background-color: transparent;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b style="background-color: transparent;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Superhero Skills</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2008 Level: Ordinary person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2016 Level: MOM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Patience<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2008: I think I am a patient person. (lol, that’s cute. You know
nothing yet)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Person<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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, <i>‘Did you
hear how he said, tomatototo?... Hi Massi, he wanted to say hi to you so I
called’.</i> 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-59375605129234912552016-05-09T05:16:00.003-07:002016-06-07T01:58:08.065-07:00Looking Back 3 (Walk Like an Egyptian)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">T+1 Day, Post Operative Room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>that</i>
unwell. I've endured kidney stones 4 times, how tough can this be? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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, <i>is this me?</i> 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. <i>You know, this is what they should
tell women about pregnancy, the aftermath. The shitty stuff. </i>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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I took one step. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Satnam Waheguru. </span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another
ant-like-step. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Please, God, I'll be good. Make it easier. </span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One more tiny
step. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Slugs move faster than this.</i> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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, <i>why does MY daughter have to go through this, not fair, not good, get
the doc.</i> My sister (unmarried at that time) I'm sure, scarred for
life.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglohHTgvNWyvAdJ9QbrniZu6IRAq4raVwL3c_eI15gLMO4_FfouPuXWA-j5fT3hzWuIfxArGfLewObWLnfmD7Ab_91zGRDBWerR6w_fySiZETLtaL-Agq2Mv4dUF338dMzgvtb7TNQ6ww/s1600/20140615_222221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglohHTgvNWyvAdJ9QbrniZu6IRAq4raVwL3c_eI15gLMO4_FfouPuXWA-j5fT3hzWuIfxArGfLewObWLnfmD7Ab_91zGRDBWerR6w_fySiZETLtaL-Agq2Mv4dUF338dMzgvtb7TNQ6ww/s200/20140615_222221.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Military Hospital and Moms' hospitality</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Calmly, casually enters my husband like he just took a nice stroll in the
garden, 'hi sweety, what happened? You look a bit tensed?'</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-63879589929770121522016-05-08T04:48:00.000-07:002016-11-27T01:00:56.581-08:00How to be a Mom- For Dummies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>He's sleepy, let him be. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I secretly kept checking his breathing, like I always do.<i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sweety please, you'll go mad.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When a child is nursed on demand, he doesn't go this long without a feed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>If he's hungry, he'll wake up- is the golden rule.</i> We got home and a nagging feeling was tugging in me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Don't be so over anxious. Everything is okay.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Something is off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Nothing is off. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And D started screaming, a new cry, and I knew, I just knew.. that it is dehydration. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I called the doc, he explained what to do and soon enough D was nursing like a new born. All's good again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">*MOM OUT!*</span></div>
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-65096787095584351542016-05-01T02:25:00.001-07:002016-05-25T23:52:28.887-07:00Looking Back -2 (Labour Day)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dr. S was happy with my progress and he thought I would deliver by morning... er.. Nope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. <i>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.</i> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sneaking out of the labour room</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!!!' </span><i style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif;">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? </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Soon I was in the OT, bustling with clinking noises, lots of strange eyes and masked faces. The good man, the </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It. Was. Like. MAGIC. God Bless the darling people who carefully figured- this fluid, in this vertebrae & <i>voila!</i> 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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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!'</span><br />
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-47428040388149271332016-04-21T03:36:00.001-07:002016-04-21T04:02:06.469-07:00Hello New Feeling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Naturally, I was very worried about my mothering skills and my <i>'mamta'</i> 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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'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!</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYjkT9h6J5wXSCNTGuh-mJLIies_2TE0QsiAviwTYCEWZjL8rDG5ywbf03_oJ9CRxeF8qnz_Pmai7I-Vm4XNHXwxYAb64hFw00Cqwhuzn_YI0JRCincJypQztqfQqKN7DBw7i9prd0Is/s1600/IMG-20140703-WA0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYjkT9h6J5wXSCNTGuh-mJLIies_2TE0QsiAviwTYCEWZjL8rDG5ywbf03_oJ9CRxeF8qnz_Pmai7I-Vm4XNHXwxYAb64hFw00Cqwhuzn_YI0JRCincJypQztqfQqKN7DBw7i9prd0Is/s320/IMG-20140703-WA0007.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Until that first vaccination.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was a happy realization that THIS is Bond. Mother's Bond. (or the start or it).</span></div>
pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-34292353822901436202016-04-21T02:14:00.000-07:002016-05-19T03:25:13.753-07:00Home Coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At T+3 days. I reached home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I felt like an eggshell. They cracked me open, took my baby out and left me bandaged to heal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Broken, patched up eggshell with painful, some engorged, some deflated body parts. Couldn't stand straight, couldn't cough, laugh or even sneeze. Every trip to the washroom was a prayer!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_CB7lmP0HE2SWsBpFm5lp37dnanDjVDPV1_pP28Ibn1IiHZKCwOZ5SgjsI1DYHNpTdc44-r4hINecWW0o5HrCACGLIpL3_FFRww3fPPeZ0ZtsWnUOJAv9HhX2yMcPHQmlpqUBcqfVvo/s1600/20140626_165714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_CB7lmP0HE2SWsBpFm5lp37dnanDjVDPV1_pP28Ibn1IiHZKCwOZ5SgjsI1DYHNpTdc44-r4hINecWW0o5HrCACGLIpL3_FFRww3fPPeZ0ZtsWnUOJAv9HhX2yMcPHQmlpqUBcqfVvo/s320/20140626_165714.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I felt handicapped. I thought I would never be normal again. One trip to the market would leave me exhausted for days. This was not my body. this body is weird. My stamina was absent and I felt weak. I felt cheated. But I had walked everyday! I was active! Then why this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oiled up and in night suits for a month. It seemed like years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It seemed like my metamorphosis was taking place. Like this was my transition period from a person to a mother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I got so busy in healing and taking care of the little new life that the 'wonder' got lost somewhere. Between fierce internet search on everything about a new born, to a feed & pee log book, to sleep management; that moment to pause and marvel at my offspring didn't really come... till one night, when the baby was fed, burped, changed and calmly sleeping... there was no one around and it was all calm. It was just him and me. And I realized that, that is my own flesh and blood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We created this. This is that ONE thing that we can truly call ours. Wow.</span></div>
pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8585388689876986595.post-19466491619482219512016-04-21T01:52:00.000-07:002016-04-21T03:06:32.519-07:00Looking Back <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'Have a healthy diet, go for regular walks, practice yoga, have good thoughts,maintain an active lifestyle, regularly massage your bump and remember God.'</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAIqyEyQ9D1JWqSFg8vkPJWphTjjBKhSF_vVlty7FCGCzxuXgPpFj25sKpYAhPDtNqKiyBkLnuvE9w4rpEDVQLA_wEGnXflIbOhTGUdeDG_E-folpN4xLi8dWY74v0akM2qRyJ3KjlAE/s1600/IMG-20140224-WA0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAIqyEyQ9D1JWqSFg8vkPJWphTjjBKhSF_vVlty7FCGCzxuXgPpFj25sKpYAhPDtNqKiyBkLnuvE9w4rpEDVQLA_wEGnXflIbOhTGUdeDG_E-folpN4xLi8dWY74v0akM2qRyJ3KjlAE/s320/IMG-20140224-WA0021.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are so many things one should do to make that one, perfect, beautiful baby and when you are a first time mom; you do it all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I ate Almonds everyday, a bowl of fruits, 2 eggs and had lots of milk. Stayed fit. Everyone encouraged and applauded me and I was utterly convinced that I will not only have a natural birth but also an easy one and will barely gain any weight or shed it off quickly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fail, Fail. and FAIL.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Full labor and emergency c-section- numerous PVs (internal examination) and boring, dull hours of lying down alone with drips on both hands yielded nothing. BUT a lovely spinal injection, a swift cut, lots of inane chatter and half an hour later my beautiful (figure of speech), semi bald baby boy was welcomed to the outside world; among very enthusiastic grandparents, a hands on Massi and a very smiley, coyly happy Dad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I, officially became a mother on June 14th, 2014 at 7:30 pm. One year later I am still coming to grips with what all this role entails.</span><br />
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pink-camouflage.blogspot.inhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434389253311124763noreply@blogger.com12