Grass is green

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

2008 v/s 2016

2008 V/S 2016

Waking Up

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

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

Getting Ready

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

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

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

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

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

Getting Out

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

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

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

Other scenario:

ALL ON-BOARD.

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

Eating Out

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

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

Superhero Skills

2008 Level: Ordinary person.

2016 Level: MOM

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

Patience

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

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

The Person

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

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

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

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

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

Looking Back 3 (Walk Like an Egyptian)

T+1 Day, Post Operative Room.

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

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

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

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

I took one step. 

Satnam Waheguru. 

Another ant-like-step. 

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

One more tiny step. 

Slugs move faster than this. 

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

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

Military Hospital and Moms' hospitality

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

How to be a Mom- For Dummies

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's sleepy, let him be. 

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

Sweety please, you'll go mad. 

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

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

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

Something is off. 

Nothing is off. 

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

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

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

*MOM OUT!*

Looking Back -2 (Labour Day)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sneaking out of the labour room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello New Feeling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home Coming

At T+3 days. I reached home.

I felt like an eggshell. They cracked me open, took my baby out and left me bandaged to heal.

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!

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.
Oiled up and in night suits for a month. It seemed like years.

It seemed like my metamorphosis was taking place. Like this was my transition period from a person to a mother.

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.

We created this. This is that ONE thing that we can truly call ours. Wow.