Monthly Archives: March 2013

Hit me baby one more time!

Sorry for the rather cheesy headline, all I’m trying to say is that I want to be pregnant again! I took really long the first time to get pregnant — first, there were the years we didn’t want a baby, and then the ones when we wanted one but weren’t being able to conceive. But good things come to those who wait. I had the loveliest baby in the womb. And so, my pregnancy was such a smooth ride. I loved being pampered. I loved the sleepless nights because I ended up reading so much then. I loved having something to look forward to. I loved all the happiness that surrounded me then. I loved the last days of solitude before the baby came and took over our lives with his cries and laughter. And just for those reasons I could be pregnant again.

But I don’t think I’m ready yet for another baby. No, not at all. My almost 18-month-old keeps me busy enough. And I cannot imagine just now forsaking the joy of running after him to cuddle a baby growing inside me. Forget all that, having another baby is nowhere on our plan. And The Guy says I will have to look for another man if I want to have another baby!

But that’s because he knows nothing of the joys of carrying a baby. I was wary of speaking about my pregnancy when I was carrying Arjun, for fear that I would jinx it. But now that that’s not a possibility, I can say how much I enjoyed being pregnant. I fell in love then with the little bundle that would kick and writhe inside me, making me aware of my body like I’d never felt before. And that’s one of those things that The Guy — an extremely hands-on dad and sensitive husband — will never experience. And so, he’ll never know why it is that I want to get pregnant again.

I sometimes think I’m making a dangerous wish — what if it comes true! But the heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of!

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I am alive. Again.

Because it’s summer, and summer’s when everything comes alive, most importantly my spirit. It’s like I’ve been sleepwalking all of the year, and Spring begins to awaken me, every tiny nerve in me that tingles with restless energy — happy, restless energy. And it awakens within me this will to be happy, to go and embrace the world — the same world that’s been a pain the rest of the year.

I hate the seasonal cusp between summer and winter, when the days become shorter, and darkness descends on sunshine. But I love, in capital letters LOVE, when the season reverses, and the days become longer, and I can step out at 6, even 6.30 in the evening, to be met by the gently setting sun, still a warm orange at that hour. It calms me down at the end of a hectic day, tells me to slow down, because I still have ahead of me a long evening to unwind.

I love how green summer is. No, not a pallid, faint excuse of a green, but a bright, sharp green, that’s calling out to you. I wait for the yellow blossoms to bloom, when the red Gulmohurs fire up the leafless trees. I love how blue the sky is — the colour you get in pictures after they’ve gone through serious photoshopping.

I love how we no longer need to rush to shut out the icy cold winds that slyly find way through the smallest crack, and that we can now finally open our doors and windows to sunshine and summer breezes.

Next time, I want a summer baby. Imagine, the double joy of a baby and this season! Oh, and I must add, if there is a second time, that is.

I’m no angel. Possibly then, I’m the devil?

Sometimes I wonder if, instead of trying to sort out so many misunderstandings, we could just give in to perceptions about us, how would that be… What makes us want other people to think good about us, to like us perhaps, to definitely not think we’re bad people. Why does it hurt when someone says something unflattering about us? And why do we want to prove our goodness?

I wonder if maybe I’m just deluding myself into believing I’m a nice person. Who knows, maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m wired like that, differently, and I’m trying very hard to be “nice” in ways that I wasn’t intended to be. How would you feel if you chanced upon the truth — the truth that basically, you’re a rotten person inside?

We hear all the time that people aren’t black or white, they’re grey. And for the most part, I’m of that view. But it could be that we’ve just come up with this notion to make the blackness of our souls more acceptable… That there are some among us who’re not grey, but all good or all bad. I’m thinking what if I’m one of them… And that what appears good in me is just stuff I’ve acquired through conditioning. It’s not entirely impossible.

I’m no angel, so possibly I am the devil?

Too much of a mother?

17 months. That much is the time I’ve allowed to let motherhood overwhelm me. There are days when I forget I’m anything else but a mother, I forget I have emotions other than those that my child begets. I forget most times that I have a life beyond mommyhood. Normal? Can’t say.

Sometimes I feel I’m overdoing it — the role of a mother. But that’s just the kind of mother I am. I do leave my baby behind when I go to work, but for all else, I have guilt the size of an immovable boulder weighing on me, and I can never seem to leave my 17 month old at home to step out for all the things I love. If I physically let him stay home while I step out in the evening, I still take him with me — in my head, and my heart. ¬†So much so that I think I’m better off lugging him around with me.

I haven’t done a lot of things I used to love doing ever since my son was born, even when I apparently can. Unlike a lot of women who stay in nuclear families and do not have the option of leaving their kids behind, I do. Because I’ve got my parents here, and because I live in a joint family, with a very good support system. Yet, for the last 17 months, I have forgone visits to the salon (my ‘beautician’ comes home whenever I need her). I’ve skipped entire theatre festivals that I was hooked to before I had a baby. I’ve given up on late night parties. I haven’t gone to the best of music concerts happening in the city. I’ve watched all of one movie in this much time. And surprisingly, I don’t miss any of it! It’s like I said, I’ve stopped being much else but a mom.

I’m not sure if this is how it should be — if it’s alright to let motherhood become an all-consuming state of being, or if I should strive to be something of what I used to be. On most days, my only adult interaction is in office. Is that why I haven’t quit work? No, I go to work because I know no other way of being. I’ve worked for the last 11 years of my life, and now it’s not a choice, it’s something I must do to exist. That I have people to take care of my baby while I’m off at work, helps to let me persist in pursuing a passion/habit (?) I do realize that the 5-6 hours I stay away from home, define the rest of my day, and make me feel like I must be a mommy every spare second. But it’s a choice I’ve made, and probably if I were any different, I could have been easier on myself. So even though this holding on to my role so hard takes up most of my energy, it’s how I must be me.

Oh shit, I’ve become a consumerist!

I look down upon myself each time I log into an online shopping site, end up spending hours scouring it for goodies, and then give in to the temptation of buying stuff that is usable indeed, uber cute too, but rarely needed. My only saving grace? That I shop for my baby, and not so much for myself.

But this is getting scary — all these shopping portals that are knocking on my email everyday, luring me to things my baby doesn’t need, convincing me that he does! Because you know what, not only am I shopping from Indian sites, where I have the Cash On Delivery option (which means that when the stuff arrives at home, and I’m not there, my ma-in-law will pay for it, and won’t let me pay her back because the stuff’s for her beloved grandchild!), I’ve discovered that now I can even shop from US sites, without having to pay the huge VAT and ¬†shipping costs! Yes, it happened to me last night, while I was at it — wasting my time on the internet after Arjun had slept, that I literally stumbled onto this precious nugget of information. And I swear, I didn’t go seeking it, it came right before me like I was meant to consume it. So there now, I have the ease of shopping from the foreign sites that have loads of stuff I have been lusting after and putting on my secret wishlist, making notes of for a time when I’ll be travelling abroad! It’s criminal that I should have access to all this even on my mobile. How am I ever going to stop myself from buying overpriced shoes that my son will outgrow in three months, but that are so totally delectable, or cute Ts and flop hats that I can’t get back home? I’m panicking.

It’s not like I don’t know what’s the right thing to do. But the scariest part is that I don’t want to do the right thing anytime. I think The Guy should be worried, very worried!