One little love story - part 7

The balancing act
These days young parents like us look forward to balancing work and life at once.  I,  at times,  regret being a stay-at-home mother though it was my decision to not take up a permanent job till my son turns two.
I regret it because I am financially depended and is compelled by my conscious to draw the limit line for expense everytime I come across eye-catchy things in e-commerce sites. I cannot thank my dear friends enough to help me celebrate and surprise my hubby's birthday and not let me worry about the expense.
To be economically independent, to not restrict myself (and my hubby) from purchasing our 'favourite nothings',  to stop ourself from bleaving that materialistic life is the ultimate sin,  I needed a job.
Part time/freelancing was an easy option except that I found little time to spare from my busy schedule (don't bother breaking your head over wondering what makes me so busy,  trust me when I say,  I have no clue either).
So financial stability on a personal ground was tough.  I respect my mother, friends and everyone who chose to balance work and personal life.  I salute the majority of you who aced it.  But,  reality is,  balancing act is not my cup of tea.  I failed at it even before I tried.  I'm miserable.
I know I will be judged.  For being dependent, as lazy,  as stubborn,  but I know no one is better to take care of my son than me. The only thing that makes me happy is I'm with my baby 24/7. I realise this is the only time he will demand my presence so much,  this is the only time he will want me with him throughout the day, this is the only time I can feed, nap with him, dress him up the way I want and he will not protest. THIS TIME is priceless.  I cannot buy it online,  I cannot borrow it,  I cannot relive it ever again. This us the only time.
So,  to the mothers like me, who chose to (or were forced to) stay at home with our little ones, congratulations!  You are doing the right thing for yourself and for your baby.  Not having to do that balancing act never makes you any smaller.  You are doing enough and more. Managing household and handling a baby is work - only that you don't get paid in cash (unless you are doing it for someone else).
Your task is to maintain a sweet happy family and a healthy baby (if anyone feels it's less important or easy, don't bother marrying or reproducing).  You are responsible for your little ones growth. Babys medical reports is your report card. With every progress your baby makes,  you go a level up, and everytime s/he smiles,  just know that you are the reason behind it.
Love yourself,  be happy and stay healthy. 

One little love story - part 6

A confession

Motherhood -  one of world's wonderful feeling.
Yeah,  I disagree to disagree to disagree...

At 5 years of age,  I badly wanted to grow up and be on my own. At age 15, I wanted to just finish off my hectic school days and move into college and have fun.  At 20, over obsessed by career dream I wanted to equip myself to climb up the hills and mountains of corporate industry.  Once married,  I wanted a kid.  Now,  I want an eight hour uninterrupted sleep.  Sigh!

No,  I'm not talking about the changing dreams or phases in life,  my point was motherhood is not easy (at least for me) as it appears from outside.  Many thinks,  after all its a baby,  what is it gonna do?  U give him some milk and put him to sleep then u have all the time in the world. Oh yeah?!  Try having one of your own before you judge.

I'm gonna be honest here,  there are many mother's and parents who sympathise,  "oh,  poor you. How are you managing?" .  "why don't you get a nanny to look after your kid?".  I don't like that either.  It's my baby,  my responsibility. I struggle to keep myself calm when I have to hand my son over to our people even for a while so then how am I to accept a nanny (total stranger) to handle him?
Frankly, I dnt know how I'm managing each day.  I some tyms fail to get breakfast ready before my husband leaves to work.  Sometimes the house is a mess when he return.  Some tyms I give up trying to console my crying child.  Sometimes I find it difficult to get myself together.  All this,  within the four walls of my house.  And outside I'm a sweet inexperienced mother trying my level best at the tasks.  These are my confessions.  My inlaws are not going to be happy about the first point.  My ever calm husband let's me off the hook everytime at the second point confessed here.  My mother is going to fume at every single word mentioned above.  I know and I'm not going to bail me out of anything for I know I'm not perfect. I make mistakes,  I learn and sometimes I take a few more lessons at the same mistakes.  I don't promise to be perfect from tomorrow.  I know some of you are perfect already,  but I'm not you.  I'm not supposed to be perfect.  I'm supposed to be me.
So I embrace the little imperfections and move on.  Because,  after going through a troublesome episode of my daily life,  when I watch my little ones face,  up close while feeding him, his deep dark eyes looks into mine revealing nothing less than his love for me.  When his busy lips take a break to peacefully smile at me,  the whole world simply dissolves into thin air and only his charming face remains.  That moment is worth living for.  That moment completes me as a mother,  as me.

One little love story - part 5

A sweet something

I'm a totally busy mother.  So busy that I even don't have the time to look at the mirror and place a red spot of kumkum (bindhi) between my overgrown,  uneven eyebrows. I must admit  that I am that one rare person who cannot imagine a life without a bindhi,  a dab of kumkum on my forehead even if I'm clad in jeans and casual tops or dressed for a perfect corporate business moment.  After moving in to our tiny home at Chennai (with the baby), I hardly noticed my dark circles or cared to comb my hair.   Until that day  -  the day I decided to take two minutes out of my busy schedule and actually do a minimal makeup and make myself feel good.
After a quick bath as usual,  I put on a house coat and digged out my kaajal and sindoor from the abandoned pouch in my shelf.  Keeping an eye on my little one,  wide awake and watching my movements,  who could change the mood of the moment in a fraction of a second,  I turn towards the mirror.  One small dot of sindoor for bindhi,  some on my forehead and a thin spread of kaajal under my eyes,  I'm done.  I take a moment to admire the new me.
It was then I noticed a huge mark just under my chin. Immediately I check it up.  Looks like burnt skin but it does not hurt me a bit. Surprised, I examine it even more.  The size of it (as big as an unniappam, I would say) made me wonder even more.  What the hell is this?  I have no memory of burning myself in the recent past, how could this have happened?!
Knowing my mother,  I didn't have the guts to ring her up and check for the possibilities of such miracles.  I decided to approach my friends group (in WhatsApp).  My gals,  my support,  my precious gems,  my Navratnas, I come to you seeking help!
After listening to my explanation,  each of us thought about the possibilities of different reasons until one came up with the suggestion of love bite.  You can imagine me blushing right now but you are wrong.  I told you already,  I'm a busy mother. I dnt have time for romance!
After a few minutes of discussion, it lit like a hundred watt bulb in my brain.  Of course it is love bite,  but not from my hus.  If you had paid attention, I had told you about my baby's new habit of mouthing my chin?  It's from him! A sweetsomthing ,  for me to remember forever.

A relief and joy it was to realise it and an absolute bliss to flaunt it for a while.

One little love story - part 4

Yasoda sees the universe in kanha's mouth!

My little one,  dearly called Kannan by a selected few, was only 4 months and 2 weeks when he experienced common cold and cough, due to the change in climate (we thought). He had turned more cranky and demanding in a couple of days and as loving, caring parents (totally new at the job and still figuring out the tasks) we gave in each time when he turned stubborn.  After all he was only four and a half months — too young to understand anything at all.  One of his new habit was putting anything he found straight into his mouth.  If he was deprived of toys,  his five figures were chewed upon.  He used to mouth my chin each time I rocked him on my shoulders.

One evening I and my hubby,  sat on the bed along with our fussy child. He had been cranky for quiet a while that day and his new found soother -his father's finger was put into use. After a moment,  my hubby cried loudly out of pain.  Puzzled,  I looked at him only to find an even more confused expression on his face.  I couldn't imagine what was so painful about it until I decided to check my little ones gums.
I opened his mouth and we were left speechless .  He was teething already and it wasn't the normal incisors even!  His cuspid on the left bottom jaw has already surfaced.  Like an iceberg,  only the tip was out, yet it was sharp enough to hurt.

We knew it was time for a visit to the doctor  as what we saw in his mouth had surprised us beyond words (though we Googled it up and found it was not unsual). At the doctor's,  kannan was well behaved and the general checkup signalled normal and healthy developments.  The doctor checked his mouth with a popsicle stick (which my son evidently disapproved by making funny faces) and revealed yet another surprise.

There were not one but three teeth on their way.  Two cuspids and a pre-molar on his lower jaw. The doctor ensured us that there was nothing to worry and it was normal to find such irregularities with the milk teeth. The permanent teeth will however appear normally.
Relieved,  we went back home with a few meds for his cold and cough.

The next is line was a very sweet something that I will remember for life...

One little love story - part 3

The cliché

At the break of dawn,  my alarm goes off and I eagerly tie a high pony with the excitement of finally getting to do what I have been missing for a year now.  The perfect patnee with a schedule for everything.  After I left to native for my first delivery, I had missed being a responsible woman of the house,  as I was pampered to the core by the overenthusiastic grandparents of my kid.

A year ago,  we were in a different country and the lifestyle we had there was pretty calm but organised.  I was always on time.  Wake up,  cook breakfast,  send my husband off to work by 7.30 am and then I had all the time for everything.  My experiments  with paint,  craft and even cooking kept me zealous  on most of the day.

Coming back to the present,  I had to 'stealth move' out of the bed so as to ensure my baby was not disturbed. After a quick face & mouth wash I went to the kitchen and began my task.  Five minutes would have passed before I heard my son cry.  He has sensed that I was not around.  My poor hus,  first experience at handling a crying baby,  looked all confused and worried.  He held our son in his arms as if to figure out the stop button. Funny as it may sound,  I almost reminded him it was not an alarm clock. It took some time to pacify my kid and put him back to bed. Needless to say that the morning was a mess with the repeated episode of baby waking up and me running back and forth the kitchen,  I realised  my idea of an ideal schedule popped like a soap bubble.

A few days went by, and all in the same manner. I and my hus started feeling more and more tired.  Waking up early morning had become a herculean task for both of us because we were sleep deprived at  day as well as at night.  I even had a day when my husband read to me about the importance of sleep and the effects of sleeplessness.  Then again we could do nothing about it other than brushing off the thought of 8 hours sleep from our brains.

As life slowly progressed,  (I mean really slowly,  in about 2 weeks)  my son had developed news habits which,  most of the time, left us puzzled.  Little did we know he was up for a surprise.  

One little love story - part 2

Little star is home

I was welcomed by the mesmerising smell of freshly mixed coffee powder and milk.  Chennai coffee, a smell that will linger in your thoughts ever after your first visit to the city. Every breath I took in had this smell.  The coffee stall was not very far from sight but I decided not to grab a cup because I had to get my stuffs and go meet my hus.  He will be waiting for us and knew exactly how he wud be feeling right then.  Collecting the luggage at the (airport) belt 1 was a little time consuming.  But at last when I walked out of the gate, it was my man's diamond smile that made my day.   Because it was an early morning flight,  we reached at a very convenient time.  Convenient,  considering the heavy traffic which otherwise would have consumed the day. My little one was unreasonably comfortable in his father's arms,  he slept like a kitten.
We reached home and right there at the door was a beautiful banner welcoming the star of the family into the house.  I immediately sensed that something bigger was waiting inside and guessing all my friends to be hiding behind the door,  I urged them to come out while my husband fumbled with the keys and finally got the door unlocked. To my surprise,  there was no one inside,  instead they had done the most beautiful thing they could.  The house was beautifully decorated with posters, balloons and ribbons of all colours and walls had my baby's pictures all over.  Crazy about my son and his pics,  this was something I always wanted to do.  They swept off my feet. Need I say more?
Big thanks to my friends who know me inside out for that beautiful gesture.
As for Navi,  it didn't make much sense in the beginning,  but it's these posters and photos that made the place easily recognisable and later turned the house homely for him.
Later that morning,  my friends dropped by and Navi was introduced to his new set of friends.  He seemed quiet happy.  Day 1 was cake walk.

From the next morning it was home alone time for mother and child...

One little love story - part 1

So,  yes I moved into the cuddly small rent house in the city with my little one to be with his dad.  It felt like the best thing even minutes before boarding the flight.
That was my first flight (although a very short one) with a baby.  I was expecting my child to feel uncomfortable considering his proactive behaviours, but of course I was expecting a lot more positive things which could overlap with it and still make it fun filled.  The first blow came from the very polite air hostess who,  after a brisk briefing of the flights baby safety measures,  announced that there's going to be no baby bassinet. Little did I know that it was only the beginning.
And so the crew announces the take off and the flight starts moving towards the runway.  I was told to feed the baby during that time to avoid the discomforts of change in air pressure.  I had "squeezed my energy" out into a feeding bottle early that day (considering the flight was at 4 am,  and in my memory there was no night in between, it seemed to be the same day to me).  I jammed the nipple into my sons ever hungry mouth. As he started quenching his thirst, I looked around (and at the guy sitting next to me) with pride and in peace that I didn't have to unbutton my top to do my duty and embarrass myself.  Meanwhile the plane had spread it's wings and got itself speeding somewhere into the limitless sky, I completely forgot to look out of the window and catch a bird's-eye view of my hometown like I always do.  A couple of minutes later,  my son is done with the bottle and he spits the nipple out. It's Play time he signaled loudly.  Yes, 4 AM's usually his fun time.  He started giggling which soon became his calls for frustration.  I give him his toy which he throws away in disgust, he didn't want a soother either.  His mumbles were growing into screams and there were eyes all around giving me razor sharp looks.  The stranger next to me took pity on me and decided not to show his discomfort but I could clearly read it on his face.
Oh god!  What now?!  That was answered pretty soon.  The pilot announces that flight has started its decent.  Oops! There was only one bottle of milk! I'm gonna have to breastfeed him now! And thus,  thousands of feet above Tamil Nadu, my shame and dignity bid goodbye. Thanks to the kind gentlemen who dug their faces into their newspapers and books.  Also to those who pretended to be sleeping. In the middle of all that,  my poor baby couldn't bear the pain of flying (cheap) and started screeching and screaming at the top of his lungs.  Those pearls that rolled down his cheeks burnt my heart but there was little I could do.  I cursed myself for putting my son through that torture. I don't remember how long that lasted,   at the time of touch down he sleeps in my arms - tired.
And the story begins here...