Now having completed the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2017, I am glad I wrote all the posts from my heart. Until I sat to write, I wouldn’t have had anything framed in my mind about what to write. In spite of holding my sleeping baby on the shoulders and in addition, sometimes, my son sleeping on my lap, I managed to bring in my emotions in words while typing with my left hand. It isn’t a feeling of having achieved something; rather it has been a hearty experience of having run through my motherhood days with the little ones close to me. I don’t think I could have done this better any other year, for my new born has revived it all from the scratch, making it more intense. It has been a truly, from-the-depth-of-my-heart memorable experience.
Sometimes, we expect but it doesn’t happen. Sometimes, we least expect but it happens. The second kind is more interesting. We breath, eat and sleep as though we are aware of what happens inside our bodies. But, we are not even close to being aware of what happens within. This is the first enlightenment that the news of pregnancy brought with it. Developmental biology used to be my most favourite subject during my master’s days. I’ve studied every detail of zygote, embryo, blastula and gastrula; yet when it was happening in reality inside my body, I had no clue of it. It – the miracle of nature – seemed mysterious to me for the nth time. It could have happened with any set of genes of the hundreds of the sperm cells. To put it in a funny way, one man is just half zygote away from becoming another.
There could be hundred nice things about me as a mother but those few seconds of yelling at my son can bring the hundred things down – not necessarily to anyone else, but to myself. I know I cannot justify my action, passing the blame on circumstances. I know it can never be a good feeling after the yelling session concludes. I know, first of all, that yelling at him isn’t going to help him in getting better at anything. I know it isn’t a decent way of parenting. I know, in time, my son might begin to hate me for my behaviour. I know he’s learning to yell, as well, watching me. I know, after all at the end of the day that what would remain with me is only guilt. I know it all, half from self-realization and half from the father’s constant requests, demands and gyans. Indeed, I have largely turned off yelling at my son in the recent days. To get rid of yelling, is not only relieving; it is also a great peace booster for the family. At the end of the day, when I watch his serene sleeping face, I rest now with a feeling of triumph.
I have slept on the sofa with a book on my head and lights turned on till the next morning. There were days when we skipped meals, forgot all about food or simply didn’t care about eating. Once, dinner didn’t strike us until 11 pm. We had to search for late night home delivery food services and finally the pizza boy knocked our door at 12. I wouldn’t proudly justify that I lived my life the way I wanted to. As a matter of fact, I lived without a way to do it then. Life before motherhood didn’t have a structure. It didn’t have a system. It had most of the essential ingredients of life. Yet, it wasn’t right somewhere.
I cherish it everyday now as my little girl simply cannot be away from me. I am cooking in the morning hours. She begins with cooing which slowly turns to soft whimpers and then all of a sudden to a loud cry which will intensify to a high-pitch scream. The father tries his luck from toys to acting a clown but she wouldn’t even open her eyes to witness his farce until I take her on my hips when her cry graph falls off to the X-axis from its highest peak in less than a fraction of a second. I turn to her and ask, ” What made you cry like that?” She looks up at my face with a mischievous smile to let me know, “Just for this Amma; to take this place on your hips.” And everything of your being melts!
You read it right! It’s not about the baby’s vaccination schedule. For the first time, in the history of motherhood, a mother has framed an immunization schedule for mothers and that mother is me 😆 During the course of motherhood, a mother develops immunity against several pre-existing and never-before-existed conditions that children can bring into her life – The Privacy of your Private Parts, The Peey, Poopy, Puky stuff……Here’s a quick, fun schedule:
I didn’t attend a class on how to change the dressings when he wets bed. I haven’t got trained in how to look after him when he is sick. No one has ever reminded me that it’s time to feed him. No one has ever taught me how to maintain the home child proof. Yet, I’ve been there through all and I’ve done all that. It is unconditional! I am not to answer anyone if I don’t feed him a meal but I do it because I have no reason to it and I can take no excuses, no weekend offs or no public holidays in this matter. It is a fact that mothers become one overnight. Until the previous night he was born, I wasn’t as alive as I am now. As I write this post now, I feel loved of all the moms in the world. Perhaps, being unconditional is the greatest trait that the bond from umbilical cord has dictated upon us!
It seems good fun to recollect these memories today but to have been there. at that point, as a mother, it was no fun! Whosoever coined the term ‘terrible two’ must have really had a terrible kid 🙂
There have been times when I have had no involvement in my life. During those years when my parents were hunting for a groom for me (you will understand if you’ve been through the arranged marriage galatta in India), I began to watch animation movies, hoping some animation will come into my days. The disconnect between the man of dreams and the men that bharat matrimony displayed was too much to bear. I have gone to the depths of boredom that I explored several philosophical and occult realms of humanity like yoga, spirituality, past lives, healing and energies. (I am glad now that I did them prior to having kids 🙂 ) Like all dejected humans, I was searching for my anchor – according to Thesaurus, an anchor is something that is used to hold another thing securely – and I was searching what would hold me securely with life.
All through my days when I was living with my parents, I didn’t realize what it is like to be a parent. After marriage, I slowly started looking back how boring and sometimes exhausting it would have been for my mom to have looked after home continuously for years. This looking-back doubled after I had my own children. When my son refuses to eat something I had prepared with lot of love, care and the anticipation that he is going to finish the bowl, I get reminded of how much I must have troubled my mom being a poor eater. When I get worried when the thermometer reading crosses 100 on my son, I recall of those days when my mom used to sit beside me trying to make me sleep during the unwell days. When I run at the last minute to pack my pre-schooler’s snacks box, I feel amazed thinking about the years’ of lunch box packing that my mom did for the family.