They were seven of them. Three women and four men. In their late twenties, from the looks of it.

Welcome hugs and greetings all around. And then they walked inside to this open air restaurant. Where tables were moved around to accommodate the seven.

One of them said something which caused a lot of back slapping and laughter among the rest. And they raised a toast with their standard eatery glasses full of water. They were looking at the menu and trying to figure out what to have. One of them wrinkled her nose at a suggestion made by the guy sitting next to her.

The waiter who was hovering nearby had a grin on his face as he watched the seven trying to decide on what to eat.

And inside a car parked next to the restaurant, a woman with an infant in her lap looked wistfully at the group and their antics. This was her life sixteen months ago. And she felt a twinge of longing in her heart for the life she had left behind. Not regret at the path she had chosen, mind you. Just a feeling of longing, knowing that those days were behind her now.

* * * * * *

There, I said it. Sue me now.

I know I always prayed I’d have a kid like Calvin, but hey! You ought to know better. Knowing how inexperienced I was with kids, shouldn’t you cut me some slack?

The one you sent me already thinks it is fun to insert her teeny tiny fingers into plug points. And blabbers in her baby talk in a way that makes me feel stoopid for not getting her language.

I hope you haven’t really taken the requests of a non-mom seriously. I was just sooper excited at being pregnant, you know. You are not going to make me eat my own words, are you?

Holding on for dear life

A hassled mom.

You get married and if it happens to be an arranged marriage and to a Mallu, there is this whole thing about North Malabar and non-North Malabar. The girls from non-north Malabar are considered too smart for their own good, trying to trap innocent North Malabar boys into matrimony. Not to talk of Nambiar , Nair, Menon, blah blah blah. Oh and by the way, being a Nair is not enough. Apparently, there are good , desirable Nairs and Nairs of not too good Caste standing, whatever that is supposed to mean.

Anyhow, you get married and move to a big Metro and join an MBA program. There again you have your hierarchies. Right on top are the Stephanians and LSR ladies and Xavierites. Then you have the Work-ex group. And at the bottom of the pyramid the ones from lesser known colleges. God forbid if they happen to be freshers!

Right. You are done with that and you reach your workplace, a fresh MBA. There you have the Indian Ivy Leaguers and the Tier A B-School ones. I shall make it a point to look down on you if you happen to nave an MBA from a lesser known institute or worse still, NO MBA!!! (Gasp! Sputter! How do you manage to breathe without an MBA??)

Phew!! You leave your job for you are expecting a baby and have decided to spend time with the kid rather than spending it cooped up in a cubicle pouring over excels and pointless ppts and trying to figure out meaningless jargons that come up in conversations. And then you come up against the next class system – the Stay At Home Mom and the Working Mom. I wont even begin to talk on this topic.

It is the next categorization that seriously pisses me off. The Natural Birth vs c- Section – the insinuation that those who go in for c-Section are somehow lesser moms than the ones who had natural births. Of all the ignorant, presumptuous, bullshit!!!

Well, here is how the class system works. Right on top, up there with the Gods, are the moms who had babies without aid. I mean no epidural, vaginal births. They are the true ones, the ones who need to be Canonized. Then come the Moms who had to have a c-section due to complications. Their status is slightly elevated if they went thru at least 12 hours of labour pain and the c-Section was forced upon them by the “inconsiderate” gynec who was out to earn a fast buck and had no regard for the “beauty” of being a mom the God intended way. And then comes the lousy selfish ones who decided on a c-Section before the pain even started. But you get brownie points if you didn’t take pain killers after the procedure thereby choosing to ‘bear’ the pain to compensate for the lack of the ‘real deal’

No! Really? You guessed whether I had a c-section or not? Yippie!! You must be one of those “bright people” dad always talks about.

Anyway, to continue with the story.. Went into the labour room with every intention of having a natural birth( not because I enjoy the pain / pleasure of giving birth naturally, but just because my mom would have disowned me if I hadn’t at least given it a shot!) Anyhow, the point is, after 12 hours of labour, the gynec told me that the baby was very reluctant to come out, so I could wait for another 6 hours and there was a 50-50 chance that I’d have a normal delivery. Right!! Go thru the bloody pain for another six hours only to find out I’d have to have an operation anyway. NO THANKYOU! The words thatcame out of my mouth as I told them to smoke the brat out would have made a drunken sailor sign up for lessons.! And a c-section it was.

Everything went hunky dory and I now have a beautiful, albeit cranky and opinionated six month old baby girl now. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the reactions that followed my c-section.

My mom-in-law, bless her sweet heart, told me that my baby wouldn’t love me much because she wasn’t born ‘naturally’. Right!

An aunt feels I wouldn’t wake up at night when she cries because I wasn’t a ‘natural’ mother.

A random relative wonders if I’ll have enough milk to feed her, because, say it with me, SHE WASN’T BORN ‘NATURALLY’

I am unfazed if she sneezes once after her bath / doesn’t poop every day because of you know what.

I am never going to lose the post baby tummy because…

I wont hurt when she cries / is in pain because…

Seriously!!! You feel like stomping on the ground and saying ‘enough is enough’ or ‘mind your own business’ or phrases much more colourful, but you end up smiling politely and nodding along.

So, for once and for all (just to get it out of my system), to all those who feel c-Section makes women less of mothers compared to the Vaginal birth ones, let me once again quote that famous Roman orator Pandan Kannan “Pbbhhhttt”

• You will have friends who won’t understand why you can’t leave your six month old with Acha and go pub hopping with them. Jeez! Heard of breastfeeding, lady? You will also understand who your true friends are. The ones who realize you might not be in a position to talk every time they call up. I am sorry I cannot listen to your problems with your girlfriend and make appropriate comments when I am trying to get a baby to sleep. But that is just the way it is. If you expect a patient ear, wait till I put her to bed. If you can’t, too bad.

• It takes only seven minutes to take a bath. Three, if you aren’t washing your hair. Ten minutes in the bathroom when Acha is around to entertain the kid and you don’t know what to do with the remaining 3 minutes.

• Some people suffer from Post Partum Depression. Some just have Post Partum Euphoria. Huh? What do you mean there is no such thing as PPE? You think my recent laughing fits is signaling an onset of madness at having no control over my day? Bleh-ddy hell!

• You will take offence when someone remarks how thin / small your baby is. Mental images of biting off people’s heads and chewing them and then spitting it to the farthest corners of earth will be a recurring thing.

• Seeing poop / puke /pee and indeed being puked / pooped / peed on, no longer grosses you out or puts you off food for a day.

• You can kiss your 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep goodbye. And long window shopping sessions. And reading a book, sitting in Landmark / Crosswords. Or going to the movies (thank the lord for DVDs)

• You really truly wish you could treat your mom to a year long spa vacation. She did this mom thingy at 22?? :-O

• There is a brilliant improviser in you. Who cares how the real rhymes go when you can make up your own lyrics! You never could carry a tune anyway.

• Human beings can actually go without sex for incredibly long stretches of time. Honest.

If ever you decide to write an autobiography, this ‘outline’ of how you got here might come in handy. You can just save me a percentage of the royalties. AND a special mention on the jacket.

* * * * *

Acha and Amma finally decide, after six years of being married, that it was time to see if our combined Management degrees would help in managing a kid. So we, ..er..we..you know..well, we went online and placed an order on Amazon.

On June 6th 2008, the gynec told us that the order had been accepted and the package would be delivered by Feb 10th of next year.

A little down the road, in the middle of all the excitement ( read continuous throwing up, perpetual crankiness, cramps, et all..), you decided we were taking you for granted and tried to shake things up a bit. Either that or you couldn’t wait to come out and meet Priyanka Chopra in her golden swimsuit thingy.(If it was John Abraham, I am disowning you.) Whatever the reason, the night after I watched Dostana, you decided you’d introduce us to the concept of ‘threatened pre-term labour”. At 7 months.

The calm and composed folks that your parents are, we took it really coolly. Honest. I did not bawl my lungs out as I peed into a plastic cup for my urine test. I did not call up Achamma and howl and ask her to hop on the next plane and get to B’bay. Acha did not flick two bricks from near some gutter so that I could take bed rest with my feet up. He didn’t sit all day by my bed and hold my hand as if letting it go would somehow send me into labour pains again.

In the end, after a gazillion check-ups, the doctor gave Amma the permission to fly and off we went to our quaint lil’ village in Kerala.

For the next two months, Amma ate and she ate and she ate and she went from 48 kilos to 71 kilos. That was just one measly kilogram short of your dad’s weight.

And then, it was the day you were supposed to come out. Feb 10th. I was in a hospital room with Muthassi, as the doctor had said she’d induce pain the next day. An India- Australia cricket match was on and since I was so bored waiting, it seemed a good option on TV. For the record, I.Am.Not.A.Cricket.Person.

Around 10 in the night, I had what I thought was contractions, but was too engrossed in the match to give it second thought. By the time the Pathan brothers won the match for India, the pains were un-ignorable.

Will spare you the rest of the graphic details, except to tell you that if at any point in your life, someone tells you that childbirth is the most beautiful experience in a women’s life, kick him in the balls. Only a person with balls(in the literal sense) will ever make such a statement. That, and the “breastfeeding is a highly erotic experience for a woman” one. Kick him hard.

Anyhow, exactly at 10:00 am on Feb 11th, you were, my darling, smoked out of the place you had gotten so comfy in that you had no intention of coming out, despite my 12 hour labour. A c-section it was, and through the haze of the anesthesia, I heard the doctor tell me the only words that mattered – “Nani, you have a baby girl.”

And thus began our journey together.

Here’s to you, Pottas – the smiling, screaming, constantly exploring, lazy, laid back kid of six months. My bundle of contradictions. The one who makes our family complete.

*clink*

]]> http://chroniclesofmommydom.wordpress.com/2009/08/11/the-origin/feed/ 0 Nani Pottas http://chroniclesofmommydom.wordpress.com/2009/08/11/happy-0-5-baby/ http://chroniclesofmommydom.wordpress.com/2009/08/11/happy-0-5-baby/#comments Mon, 10 Aug 2009 18:31:03 +0000 Nani http://chroniclesofmommydom.wordpress.com/?p=137 ]]> Today, as you turn 6 moths old, Acha and Amma took a good look around us. And came up with our list of ‘Things we wish you’d grow up knowing / realizing. Separate lists, mind you. The views of one has no bearing on the other. Without further ado,

ACHA

You will be turning 6 months in a few days. I wouldn’t traumatize you with life lessons, especially when you are torn between fancying your chances with either pulling the telephone cord or lunging for the tea mug I am holding. But here are a few thoughts from me to remember this day by.

• You will probably not remember all those things(goofy and potentially embarrassing in later life) that you did in the initial year(s) of your life. Rest assured. As responsible parents they are etched in our minds and captured in digitally indestructible media for later..so beware..playing with poop is fun now but not 20 years later

• You have the cutest smile and face compared to any other baby in the world..clichéd as it may sound now, just wanted you to realize that when on your 23rd birthday, you put your faith on a B#$%^&D surgeon and decide to get a nose/face/lip/eye/cheek job done.

• You are the best thing to happen in our lives…and yeah, that holds true even if your mom and I don’t let you know that.

• A confession from your dad(not to be misused in future)..I am a sucker for your emotional blackmail..especially when you give me a smile all of a sudden and then immediately as a reward raise your hands and expect me to give you a tour of the house.

• Ogling at Kids 25 times your age in a mall is not Kool!!..I am all for ogling, but lady, pick someone your size..don’t Supersize it already!!

AMMA

• You are the bestest. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

• Don’t let your actions in the future be guided by what is expected of you. Do what you feel, deep in your heart, is right. Except when I tell you otherwise. Because Amma is ALWAYS right.

• It is okay to say NO. In fact you should be able to say NO. Again, EXCEPT to Amma.

• Being a girl is going to get tougher. Learn to deal with it your way.

• Amma was once 48 kilos. And hot. Killer hot. I Swear. Cross my heart and all that jazz

• You will make mistakes. You have to move on. Incase you need me to help you sort things out, I’ll be there for you. Always.

• It is okay to be different. In fact, it is good to be different. No, not easy, but definitely good.

• It is natural to be afraid of things. The only thing is to not let anyone else know of it. EVER.

• It is natural for adults to fight once in a while. Acha and Amma will too. Over silly things and not so silly ones. That doesn’t mean we don’t love each other or you. And we aren’t going to kill each other either. I think.

• The Letters to Penthouse you see at the back of the book shelf? Acha’s. Not mine. Honest.

Anyhow. She seemed to like the blankie. Turning it around. For ten minutes.

And then I see it. What has caught her attention is the tag. Yep. I buy her a mothercare blankie and she plays with its tag. Well, more like ‘chews on the tag’ .

Well, if the kid just wanted a tag to play with, I could have given her one of my pre-maternity t-shirts. Or jeans. Or those fabulous Fabindia tops.

I am never going to fit into them again anyway.

Now excuse me while I go bawl my lungs out at my new “curvy” (read fat) body and wallow in self pity and body image issues.

Achappan: Paappi ?

Amma: Appacha?

Achappan: Appachanodo ammachiyodo paappikku sneham?

Amma: Appachanodu!

* * * * * *

Achappan and I used to love singing this song (Just in case you are interested, it is from the movie called Mayiladum Kunnu, a song by this guy called Devarajan master. Listen to it someday.)

All this while Achamma was feeding me / dressing me / helping me with my homework / cooking our dinner… This ritual started right from when I learned to talk till I was around ten.

Now that I have you, my baby girl, I am waiting for my comeuppance… and I can hear Achamma laughing evilly in the back ground. *sigh*

You are sleeping peacefully on my lap while I read it and was filled with dread. In another three days, you’ll be six months old and in all probability will grow up not knowing who George Sodini is – A man who shot women because, he was, according to him, rejected by “30 million women” . The only connection to the slain women had to the ones who “rejected him” was probably that they shared the same gender.

I am petrified, my baby. You are going to grow up in a world where men find it hard to accept the fact that a woman has the right to choose. A right to say NO. How do I equip you to deal with a man’s ego which with each passing year seems to grow much bigger than his brain?

Do I go against everything I believe in and ask you to be careful and not upset a man? Do I tell you to make choices that don’t clash with what a group of men thinks are the values of our culture? How would you ever respect a mom like that? How could I ever respect a mom like that? On the other hand, if I ask you to stand up for what you believe in and then you get hurt, how do I live with myself?

I grew up in a village in Kerala where women were expected to conform to set norms. I didn’t and spent three years of college as a near outcast. You’d probably never believe that laughing loud and talking to guys in class gets you the label of a ‘loose woman’. Going alone to a restaurant was unheard of. Go out alone after seven and you were ‘easy pickings’. I thought things would be better once I got out. Sadly it isn’t. It is much better disguised in cities, save for occasional eruptions, but the story is still pretty much the same. Men cannot handle a woman who has a brain and isn’t afraid to use it.

Strong women have always been condemned, be it in real life or in fiction. How many men do you think understand Scarlett O Hara, leave alone admire her? Picking on Ekta Kapoor’s portrayal of women is almost too easy. The sedate dutiful stay at home wife / daughter / sister who doesn’t have a care about her own self is the Good one, while the career woman who has a mind of her own is the vamp bent on destroying the social fabric.

Acha doesn’t share my paranoia about what an unsafe world it is becoming for women. He says there still are a lot of good guys out there who respect women and their choices. But how do I make sure that you only come in contact with the right kind of men?

I AM becoming paranoid, I agree. Whenever a stranger asks to hold you, I say NO. I usually make up polite excuses, but one of these days I might just end up saying what is really going on in my head: “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Then why on earth would I hand my baby over to you, even if it is just for a second AND I am right there?”

Holding on to you forever is not an option. I have to let you go out in to the world and find your own space. All I can do is try and equip you. The only question that remains in my mind is HOW?

Even now, when Pottas wakes up for her night feedings, I can barely keep my eyes open. Yes, in the initial days, I had to sit up and feed her, but now that she is six months, I have discovered the joys of feeding her without getting up and with the eyes closed.

Indeed I never thought I’d meet someone who’d beat me in the sleeping department.

That was till yesterday.

Woke up sometime in the night to hear Pottas up and crying for milk. Pulled her towards me and had ..er…the thingies in place for feeding. All with my eyes closed, mind you. And I must have dozed off in that state for a couple of minutes, before I woke up to hear whimpers. Was wondering why she wasn’t latched on and forced myself to open my eyes.

And there she was, eyes shut, mouth open, making whimpering noises. Bleh-ddy kid couldn’t open her eyes and bring her mouth to the feeding station, eh?

Here’s a news flash for you, baby; I am 28. I have earned my right to be lazy / sleep late blah blah. Because I am MOM, I get to do what I want. You, young lady, had better toe the line.

I know customer is King and all that nonsense, but as far as you are concerned, milk supply in this land is a monopoly, and guess who own the only booth around? So, I decide the terms of feeeding. You hungry. I have milk. You make effort. Get it?

Now will you pretty please drink some more milk and gain some weight before we go to Kerala to meet Achamma?

]]> http://chroniclesofmommydom.wordpress.com/2009/08/08/the-apple-that-did-not-fall-very-far-from-the-tree/feed/ 0 Nani