wondernoon

05:39 pm: Baby girl's birth story.
As I sit back and think about the tense drive to the hospital and the intense moments leading up to the birth of our baby girl, the feeling is that of an out of body experience. My due date was June 20.07. I was hoping that I would deliver a few days earlier rather than later like it happened for my son for whom I had to be induced since he went past the due date. Also, my sister was due to arrive on June 17 and had planned to stay for a week. I was hoping to maximize the time we would have with my sister after the second baby arrived. This time it was all about practicality. I was most worried about how my son would manage my being away at the hospital for two days never having stayed away from me for more than 2-3 hrs. On Friday night I had indications that labor might start over the weekend (mucus plug). So I called my sister in the morning and told her to come on Saturday night instead of Sunday night as she had planned.
June 17 morning:
I went for a long walk after feeding kutti boy (my 22m old son) his breakfast. It was a long walk considering I was due any time although I just walked down the road along with my sister. I was really hoping to kick start natural labor. I had been feeling some mild contractions during the night. But they were sporadic, some close, some far apart. I had my lunch around 12.30 pm and went upstairs around 1.00pm to make my son go for his afternoon nap. But before that I called the hospital and the doctor on call called me back. I told her that my contractions were about 10 to 12 minutes apart and lasted about 30 to 45 seconds. She asked me if my water broke or was leaking for which I replied no. She asked me about my first delivery – I told her I delivered three hours after I had been induced. That got her concerned and she paused for a bit and told me “I would hate for you to come here all the way and go back. So I would say let’s wait for an hour and see if your contractions start getting more frequent. If they get any closer than 10min, call me and we will have you come over to the hospital”. I told her to make sure that the anesthesiologist was ready to give me the epidural. I always swore that I would never deliver without the epidural since I could not imagine withstanding so much pain. I decided to make my son start his afternoon nap so that I could leave for the hospital while he was napping knowing my contractions would probably start getting more frequent by then. He was wired awake that day and even at 1.30 pm he was playing with me and goofing around. I finally told him sternly that he had to close his eyes and start sleeping. Finally around 1.45pm, he fell asleep. I came downstairs and saw that the hospital bag was ready to be loaded and my husband was ready to leave any time. I could see the tension in my mother’s face. I had told my sister to stay on with my mother and help her when my son woke up from his nap. All of a sudden the pain became intense. Contractions became more and more frequent. Three minutes apart now. I suddenly found myself in tears from the pain. I controlled myself and told my husband to call the labor and delivery unit and tell them that we were coming right away. The answering service asked to talk to me (the patient!) and I could barely answer their questions. I gave the phone to my husband and told him to inform them that we were just coming and we had no time to wait for the doctor to call me back. I could feel the intensity of the labor pains and I felt the pressure of an imminent water break.
Just like a thriller movie there was a twist when I was about to leave. My nephew said that he would drive me and my husband (B) to the hospital instead of having B drive me to the hospital. We were about to get into his car when he said “Oh man, I don’t want to take chance but I am low on fuel”. I was in agony by then not as much in pain but from the anxiety that we were running out of time. Immediately B transferred the bags into his car and I was groaning with pain by then. In a concerned tone I asked my sister who is a pediatrician, “Do you think I will deliver in the car?!!”. She comforted me feebly saying, “No, don’t worry, keep breathing, you will get there”. But she was lying. She was concerned too. Suddenly she exclaimed “You know what, let’s just call the ambulance”. I was too nervous by then to even wait for one second while making phone calls etc. I just screamed to every one “Let’s just GO!!”. My mother insisted that I take my sister along and that she would manage my son by herself. I asked her if she was sure and she just told me to leave and not worry about my son. My sister wanted to get her hand bag just incase she had to drive back but I yelled “Let’s JUST GO!”. She jumped into the car and we left.
June.17.07 – around 2.20pm.
We were driving to the hospital – a twenty min ride from our place. Traffic was smooth since it was a Sunday afternoon. I sat at the back with my sister holding my hand. B was driving as calmly as he could under the circumstances. Those twenty minutes were one of the most intense moments in my life I think. They were in part a thriller and in part a comedy in retrospect. Only in retrospect one can laugh about it. When I was experiencing it I was pale with pain and anxiety written all over my face. I could feel the pressure of the baby pushing its way down and I was worried sick that I would not make it to the hospital in time. I have this habit of reciting “Ram Ram Ram” when I am in pain or when I am afraid. It is more of a meditative prayer than a religious one. So naturally I started reciting loudly “Ram Ram Ram” in a sing song tone and my sister would hold my hand and ask me to breathe slowly in and out. Between contractions I would have a thirty second break from pain and those few seconds I was in some strangely euphoric state. I felt as if I was entering deep sleep in the midst of that pain. As we neared the highway exit for the hospital the road was bumpy and in the same sing song tone I was yelling to my husband “bumpy, bumpy, bumpy” and he just calmly replied “ I can’t do anything about it – the road is that way here”. I was mildly relieved to know that we were near the hospital. The left turn signal to enter the hospital emergency entrance turned to red just when we got to that point. After what seemed like eternity, we then turned into the emergency entrance of the hospital. My sister darted inside and found a lone receptionist sitting at the desk. She told him “We need a wheel chair, my sister is in labor and needs to be taken to her room”. He casually asked her “Oh, when is she due?”.
My sister said “NOW, she is term and is ready to go NOW”. He then got some sense of the urgency but only pointed to the wheel chairs in the corner. She ran to fetch one and shouted to him to get the nurses ready in the labor room. By then he had paged a nurse who came running outside and I managed to climb on to the wheel chair. I huffed and puffed my way through the hallways and finally made it to the labor room.
June.17.07 – 2.44pm.
As soon as we got into the room, I asked the nurses to give me an epidural. It so happened that the labor nurse who was there at my first son’s delivery was on duty when I went in this time too. She recognized me and told me “ Well, you have to get into bed first, we need to check you before giving an epidural”. The height of the bed now seemed like the Himalayas to me. I felt the shooting pain of the contractions and the pressure of a baby ready to push its way down. I somehow managed to climb on to the bed and push back as much as they wanted me to. The nurse checked me and casually said “No, can’t give you the epidural, too late, you are fully dilated”. I felt my heart sink. I was terrified of the pains I might have to endure while pushing the baby out. I was someone who would pop an Aleeve tablet before periods cramps started. How can I endure labor pains and push the baby out! Just as I was mired in these fearful thoughts, I felt the pop of the water breaking. There were three nurses in the room and one of them paged the doctor on call, the other inserted the IV needle, my husband held my hand and kept telling me to breathe. My sister looked on to see how I was progressing. One of the nurses yelled to me “The baby’s head is coming out. Start pushing”. It was a scene from the movies. I barely got myself perched on the hospital bed and suddenly I felt myself giving one big push and there it was, exactly seven minutes after I got on the delivery bed, the much awaited sound of the baby’s first wail! The nurses, my sister and B were just delighted and my sister was in tears. She came to hug and I don’t remember where my husband was at that moment – I think he immediately ran to see his little girl. They lifted the baby up for me to see – I could see her pink face and curly thick mop of hair. They took her away to have her cleaned and weighed and wrapped up. We waited for a few minutes when I was left to myself pretty much since all attention was now on the baby. My sister was cooing to the baby and my husband was busy with the camera capturing the moment. All I felt was relief, relief and more relief. Thank you god for big mercies. One wrong move on our part, any small delay here or there, things would have turned out very differently. I could have delivered in the car – a scene I cannot even imagine. I felt like some divine grace had held me tight and kept me breathing right and hold on until we reached the hospital. The nurses remarked to me “What a perfect way to deliver! You didn’t waste any time. You just got here and you delivered!”. The senior nurse looked at me with a grin and showed me the labor chart and said “This is the shortest chart in my nursing career. Just a strip of paper! For the third one, you better get here as soon as labor starts!”. I turned to her and said “Are you kidding me, no third, this is it!”. She looked at me as if to say “We’ll see!”. The doctor on call arrived a few minutes later and congratulated me and shook her head in disbelief. She told me “Thank god! You made it here on time. You really have a high tolerance for pain. It all happened so quickly from the time you called me!”.
High tolerance for pain? Me? I probably do have it but I just cannot believe it. She then sutured the second degree tears I had suffered while pushing the baby out. When they handed me the baby, all I felt was a deep sense of gratitude to whatever power it was that brought her into this world safely in a secure, clean environment. I could not think of anything else. Suddenly sleep took over me. I just felt my eyes close from sheer fatigue from the intensity of the past half an hour. I just lay down feeling blank and tired.
It is already more than two weeks since the birth of baby girl. She is sleeping like an angel all wrapped up in her swaddle blanket and wearing her pink baby cap. On our drive back from the hospital, I was sitting between our two children and my husband drove and my sister followed us in another car. It felt complete. Our little family. So much to look forward to. So many countless joys and so many trying moments in the process of raising them. It was only a fleeting thought. I am a bit too sentimental to think too far into the future. Thank heavens for today. We were returning home safe. I suddenly felt a surge of tears remembering how my mother and father were waiting at the door when we drove home after my first child was born. Now my father is no more. I missed him. I imagined his presence at the door when we entered. I do want to believe that the collective prayers and good wishes of so many people and my father’s blessings got me through this safely. Camera, video, flowers, pink balloons, aarthi at the door when we entered…and here we were now a family of four set for a long journey together!

09:03 am: Is it a girl? Is it a boy? Due now?
As the due date comes closer and closer it is quite amusing to see the reactions from people regarding the (second) baby’s arrival. There is a sense of excitement and anticipation even amongst strangers. It’s a fun game to play – guessing the gender of the baby based on how you are carrying the baby, if you look like you are glowing etc etc. I remember how during my first pregnancy about three or four weeks before due date I would get so many questions about my due date. And because I am petite I guess my tummy showed so much that so many people asked me if I was either due right then or if I was having twins. This time around surprisingly no one has asked me if I am having twins but people have begun asking me if I am due to go very soon. We went to the beach last evening and I had a drink at Starbucks. The clerk made an error and charged me a lower amount for the drink. She called the manager who came to fix the error. He told her “Ahn, it’s ok, she has a baby coming soon anyway” and didn’t charge me the full amount for the drink. He was a tall, plump guy with a rather cherubic face who then cheerfully looked at me and said, “You look like you are ready to go soon”. I said “Yeah, kind of”. And he said “I would say in a week?”! That was a pretty close guess and I could see he had fun guessing and then checking with me to see if he was right.
The other day I was at the grocery store waiting at the cash register and the clerk, an older Chinese woman said “Let me guess what you are having, You are carrying it in front, I think it’s a boy”.
A friend wrote to me after seeing my recent photo “You look like you are going to have a boy because you are glowing and they say if it is a girl she robs you of all your beauty”. Interestingly the same week, two of my relatives used the same phrase in Tamil to guess the gender of the baby. I find such traditional phrases in any context very cute and interesting. Translation doesn’t do it justice though. They said “Nee Azhagu vittundrukke, unakku ponnu dhan porakka pordhu” – translating literally, it means “ You are emanating beauty, so you must be having a girl” quite the opposite logic of what my friend said about the same thing. I too find a pregnancy glow when I see pictures of some friends/sister's during their pregnancy. I do believe though - "Pregnancy glow is in the eye of the beholder!". I don't see any glow when I look in the mirror!
It’s fun to see how people – both known and unknown strangers – love to participate in this guessing game. Something about the arrival of a baby is exciting and somehow makes people want to know and want to converse about it. As the due date comes closer, I find myself receiving more calls from people wondering if the baby has arrived. Somehow they think if I haven’t called them it could be because the baby has arrived. A very close friend from India who normally doesn’t email and calls very infrequently (nevertheless is one of my closest friends) suddenly mailed me today asking me if I was in the hospital and if the baby had arrived! He is usually completely preoccupied with his work and on a normal day would casually leave an intentionally rude message "only called to quickly check if you are still alive, not much else, bye!". Another friend who lives very close to our place called me a little while back and said “Haven’t talked to you in two days, was wondering if the baby had arrived”! It is as if every one is eagerly waiting for the grand arrival of the little one. And I totally relate to it because a close friend was due to deliver on May 26 but I did not hear from her till May 31. I was so eagerly waiting for her call but I had already called her on the 25th with the “SO?!!” opening as soon as she picked up the phone. I did want her to feel pressured especially since this was her first child and she was already nervous about the labor pains etc. Every evening I would tell my husband “Haven’t heard from N yet, wonder if she is in labor now”. Some people find these sort of questions and guesses annoying but I actually really enjoy it. As long as it is obviously meant in a lighthearted manner which is usually the case. It makes you feel connected as human beings and makes you enjoy the true magic of bringing a new life into this world!

01:44 am: Single child or not...
I read an article written by someone about people deciding to stop with one child and how it is worth having two children rather than stopping with one. Although I myself used to very strongly say that it would be "Zero or two" children for me, I have to say I would have chickened out of the whole process of going for a second child had my husband not been absolutely sure that we should have two children and not just one. Any doubt on his part and I might have convinced myself to cop out of this even though I felt it was the right thing to do – have two children so they will have each other. In my opinion fear of the unknown can be strong unless you feel confident and absolutely convinced that you can do it and do it well. I did not feel that and I still feel anxious as to how I will get through the first year with two little ones (my second one is due end of June). My mother is here to help me out, but she is going through her own silent grief right now after the loss of my father. Also the she is much older now than she was when she helped all my other siblings with this whole process – I am her youngest child born much after the first five were born, clearly an accident as they say! Unless I hire a nanny full time (good part time nannies are almost impossible to find because they are dedicated and want to do it full time) which is very expensive and not worth it if I plan to be stay home for the first two years of raising the child considering I am doing that for my first child. So I did find it daunting to think of being a stay at home mom for another couple of years and do child rearing full time with very little help at least during week days. I can believe people find it daunting enough to just not want “to do it all over again”.
Two of my brothers and one sister have only one child each respectively. And two of my sisters have two children each. Having seen those children grow up, I don’t see any difference in how fit they are, how mature or intelligent they are. The single children are all very smart, mature and well adjusted socially as much as the ones with siblings. Although I cannot deny that the single children would have been great as siblings and would have doted on their younger brother or sister had their parents decided to go for one more child. Interestingly of my two brothers, one tried to convince me not to go for a second while the other was trying to convince me “not the make the same mistake” they made in having just one child. A friend with a single child who is about to enter college, recently told me “You know, when I was your age people used to try to convince me that I should go for second child. I felt annoyed that they were advising me…now I find myself doing the same thing. It would have been nice if I had had two children”. Some people come to regret their decision to stop with one whereas some others (like my brother) are so sure of it that they even try to convince others as to why it is a good idea to stop with one.
I think if one is not mentally ready to have two children it is almost impossible to be bold enough to go for it. It is not easy to bring a life into this world unless you feel you can do it. Speaking for myself I went into this with much trepidation despite strongly feeling that it would be good for my children to have each other. When I see bickering siblings (as adults) who are not close or don’t care much for each other I wonder why they turned out that way – if it has to do with the parenting or really sometimes people just don’t get along with each other. I dread such an outcome for my children and I sincerely keep praying that they will always be friends. I feel like I am going through this “all over again” just for that one reason – they should have each other. Another friend who’s father recently died of Alzheimer’s disease told me – “ I was so sure that we would only have one child. But after what I went through with my father I realized that if I had been the only child it would have been impossible and devastating to bear it all on my own. That’s when I felt I had to do it for my daughter’s sake – she needs a sibling”. Similar thoughts were echoed by someone who lost her father recently and said that she had no one to share her grief with – what her mother was going through was different from what she was going through. She really missed having a sibling at that moment of loss.
On the other hand another friend told me a while back that she just could not imagine going through it all over again because she really did have an extremely difficult pregnancy. She also felt it was not in her to jeopardize her career by going for yet another child. My friend who’s father had Alzheimer’s also had a very difficult pregnancy but she still went ahead with the second and having somehow got through pregnancy and the first year after, she feels it has been absolutely worth it. It is a matter of finding the activation energy it takes to just bite the bullet and go for it – once it sets in motion, there is no going back and one somehow gets through the difficult years for a life time of joy – at least one hopes! Having a sibling is not just about having someone to share the burden of grief in life situations, but also having someone to celebrate with, someone who knows you through childhood and through all that your family has gone through, both the good and the bad. It’s about that bonding that comes with growing up together and having the liberty to call and laugh or cry about something that you know a sibling and only someone that close will understand. I feel strongly that it is a great gift that a parent can give to a child. You can have a fall out more easily with even the closest of friends and suddenly be left alone but it is very hard for siblings to not be there for each other no matter how many arguments or difference of opinion they may have with each other. As far as the single child, knowing my nieces and nephews who are single children, I don’t see any difference in how accomplished or happy they are compared to those with siblings. I only feel bad sometimes that they missed out on the joys of having a sibling, of growing up together and knowing there will be someone with a shared history and a sense of family for a long time to come. As I said in my previous post (about what my mother tells us), I imagine it is every parent’s wish that their children be united as siblings and always be there for each other. I too pray for that for my two children.

02:51 pm: As mother's day approaches...
As Mother’s Day approaches and shops gear up to profit from it, I can’t help but go into a dizzying array of thoughts about what motherhood has meant to me personally. I wonder whether I belong to the minority club of those who are unable to come up with some glowing statement proclaiming that it is the best thing that happened to them ever. It certainly has been wonderful but I don’t seem as emotional about it. I did not cry at the sound of the first heart beat at the very first ultrasound I went to and I did not experience any feelings when I held my baby in my hands for the first time. Relief certainly, but it wasn’t like anything that I had read in stories recounted by other mothers or even like the personal experiences of my sisters and friends. Nevertheless, over the past year and a bit, I too find myself having arrived at the same spot – having developed an incredible attachment to my child and wondering how empty my life would have been without him.
Having lost my father recently and still trying to come to terms with it, I remind myself constantly to live in the moment and enjoy good times while they last. Perspectives are always fleeting however. I think of all that I need to be thankful for when reading an article about children in Iraq and imagine how incredibly hard it must be for parents in such war zones. The next moment I am immersed in self-pity over battling a child who refuses to eat. I stare at the clutter of toys and crayons in the living room while my husband is upstairs making my son go to sleep and I wish for a magic genie to clean it all up instantly. These are not bullets or metal scraps for God’s sake, just toys and bits of cookies lying on the floor. I shouldn’t’ fret over this. If I didn’t clean up, I cannot concentrate on even watching TV let alone reading. I clear up some clutter and sit down to take in the quiet moment and revel in it for sometime. It feels like a long day but there is an abstract feeling of gratification.
For some, the desire and the patience it takes to raise children come very naturally. Maybe it does not feel as difficult for them. I can’t sometimes wonder though whether deep down, the surface ease belies some of the same anxiety and emotions that those like me for whom it does not come naturally go through.
My son turned 21 months couple of days back. I look at him with pride and joy and wonder how he will turn out to be as an adult. Sentiment stops me from wandering too far into the future – one day at a time I tell myself. I thank the stars for all that he is now and I pray for his good health and happiness. But I don’t linger in that proud moment for too long out of fear of casting a jinx. Much as it brings me joy, I can’t help but feel anxious about how I am going to find the patience and strength to do it all over again when the second child arrives in June and having two on my hand then to deal with. I blindly trust that things will somehow fall in place.
The reality of motherhood is not just full of those special-Kay moments of joy and smiles and pretty looks, as I have come to learn first-hand. My induced labor for the first delivery was quite easy and very quick. It only took three hours from start to finish. But I went through fourth degree tearing in the process. The pain I went through four days later is the real part of labor that I can remember now. I remember what my ob-gyn said, jokingly, when I went to her in utter pain few days after delivery. “You wonder if Catherine Zeta-Jones also went through such an experience, don’t you”, she said. Are there tears too behind the smiles for everyone? One understands motherhood only after going through it personally.
I now look at my mother with renewed respect for all that she has gone through in raising not just one but six children -- and never patting herself on the back for doing so. Due to her deep sense of gratitude and faith in God she only says “I didn’t do it, God helped me do it”. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for her to have lost the very first one at a time when women were expected to bear a child soon after marriage while hers was already late by those standards and to again lose another adorable (the third one for her) child only a year and half after he was born. I feel as though I am looking at some super human who went through eight pregnancies and breast-fed every single child for over a year. And on top of that, she raised her six children while having several other children, my cousins, also growing up in the same house. Now, she is still fulfilling her role as a mother and helping me with my delivery despite the loss of her husband, my father, and despite the grief that she is experiencing quietly. Her energy leaves me in awe. She was apparently a brilliant student in an English convent school she went to before she got married. Legend has it that the principal of the school,a nun, was nearly in tears pleading with my grand father to let her continue on with her studies. My mother may not have had the kind of career she was capable of, but she has led an exemplary life nevertheless. And it’s not even that she is humble about all that she has done. She does not even give it a second thought. To her, that is life. You just do your duty with love and sincerity. Simple. She does not preach the verses of the Gita, she lives it. Not just her, so many other mothers of her generation. I never paused to think about them like I do these days. Much as I mock Hallmarks’ days, I think a day dedicated to celebrating mothers makes sense.
Despite my great admiration for her, I still can’t help but treat her like a mother – I express my irritations at her freely even if I regret it later. I took my father’s presence in my life for granted and now I find myself doing the same with my mother. But I am now more aware of how precious my time with her is despite her good health and how it can just as easily be taken away when I least expect it. One just never knows what lies ahead next.
I can also not be as gracious as she is in hardly taking any credit as a mother. As a stay-at-home mother, I sometimes feel as though it is a penance that one goes through. One experiences those unbelievably joyful moments but also tides through a monotony of mundane chores and relentlessly repetitive tasks -- preparing the right food, feeding a difficult eater patiently, changing diapers and so on. I do sometimes regret that my career has taken a back seat in this process and I do envy working mothers for being able to enjoy their own time 8 hrs a day even though it is a choice that I have made for myself. Laboratory science does not lend itself well to part-time work and for obvious reasons not to working from home. I do not want to return to laboratory science and plan to change my career track when I return to working. All of this uncertainty makes me anxious when I actually pause to think about it. I am not one to advocate one or the other - working or staying at home - for anyone else. I only want to do what feels right for myself. And I hate the fact that society is still not geared up for truly equal parenting where both the father and the mother go through such difficult career decisions – stay-at-home dads are looked down upon even by many women, let alone men. Paternity leave is still not as extensive or acceptable as maternity leave is. And men who do parenting tasks are applauded even more than women as though it is only expected for a woman to do it. But having gone through motherhood thus far, there is a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that I have given my child all of my time, and made him my priority at the stage that he is most dependent on me. Despite all of the irritations and anxiety I go through in the process, I give it my best. I do hope that I can find it within me to cope with two children although I just can’t visualize it just now. And I sincerely hope that they will be there for each other as best of friends always. When my mother now tells us that the best gift we can really give her is for us siblings to be there for each other always, I understand what she really means and how much that means to her. There is so much about motherhood that you understand only as you go through it. It is like hearing the finer notes of a complex tune and appreciating it even more as you learn to play it yourself.

01:01 am: Perspective
A couple of days back I got into an argument with B (my husband). Now thinking about it, it seems like a scene from the romantic comedy “The break up” (I only saw the trailer on TV where they show Jennifer Aniston complaining to Vince Vaughn that he does not “want” to do the dishes). But when I was arguing, it was hardly funny. I was angry, very very angry. I had had a very long day – cooking a proper meal both for lunch and dinner since my father-in-law was visiting, taking care of my son all day and of course the difficult task of feeding him his three meals, shopping for Indian groceries at some new store in an unfamiliar town, losing the way on the way back home when it had become dark ((being 6m pregnant and having a toddler sitting at the back makes it doubly stressful), having to rush and make dinner and feed my son, finally sitting down to have dinner myself past 9.30pm that night. The next morning was my mother-in-law’s 6th month ceremony. She was fond of keeping some traditions and observing festivals etc so in her honor I wanted to do the traditional cooking that is done on such days. B had to go with his father to meet the priest at 7.00 am – so I had to get as much cooking done as possible (it is an elaborate menu on such days) before 6.00am. He had offered to cut all the vegetables and keep it ready for the next morning. I was exhausted but I felt bad about relaxing in the couch when B was cutting vegetables. As soon as he got started, I joined him and started cutting vegetables along with him. After a brief moment of silence, I was beginning to fume inside while the two of us tired souls silently went about the cutting…
I suddenly exploded to B “you know, you could just tell me to go sit down and relax and that you will take care of it yourself”! B just looked at me aghast at this complaint and said “Who asked you to come and help. I told you I would take care of it”.
“Well, you know I was considerate enough to not let you do the whole thing all alone, you can likewise just tell me to just take it easy!”
“What?! Is this a test?! Why can’t you just relax instead of helping me and then complaining about it?!”
“That’s not the point. You could just be a little thoughtful and show me that you acknowledge what I am doing for you and make me feel good!”
B shook his head in complete confusion and this complex logic and that made it worse for me. In the middle of this I was yelling at him that we were arguing so loudly and that my father-in-law who was upstairs would only think of me as the monster daughter-in-law who argues with his son. And once again B was amazed and said “ You are worried about that now?!”
What can I say – probably a classic case of “Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars”!
The night passed in anger and coldness but thankfully sleep does clear the head and a beaming fresh smile from dear son soon after waking up in the morning, our bonding factor during such times did the trick. I still wonder though if I was unreasonable in my anger towards B at that moment…I say wonder, but in fact I am sure I was not being unreasonable in my expectations, what say you, women out there?! .

P.S - am posting after a very long time. After my father passing away I was so stricken with grief and shock from his abrupt and unexpected demise, I just could not get myself to think straight and write about anything. Aside from the fact that it was an extremely busy time at home, with son falling sick, having to move, father-in-law visiting and so on. And a month later a very close cousin sister of mine died of cancer leaving behind her only son who is only 19yrs old. I keep telling myself to keep perspective and not make a big deal of small things in light of such tragic events but I find that it is impossible to keep perspective at all times. It needs constant reminding and much work to not loose it when I am tired, to not worry myself if my son skips a meal or eats poorly, to not bring on negative thoughts (like the veggie incident) and arguments needlessly…. to feel grateful for all the blessings especially good health and friends and family…

02:19 pm: Appa

When I wrote the first post for the year  “Something new for 2007”, I only imagined my life with two children and how I would cope with the changes.  Somewhere in the mental picture of our home with two children, my father and my mother were very much a part of it like they were when my first child was born.  Little did I imagine this year would bring me that dreaded moment when you lose a parent.  My dear father passed away on Tuesday, Jan.23.07 at 11.15pm.  He was old but in very good health except for some mild fibrosis in his lungs which was not so much of an issue.  He caught pneumonia that led to respiratory distress and was on the ventilator for merely 20 hours after which his life was taken away from us.  Some of my cousins and close friends lost a parent in the last couple of years and while talking to them I did imagine how it would be for me if I had to face a similar situation.  And now I know you can never be mentally ready for this.  The loss is gut wrenching and the finality of death crushing.  My father spoke to me from the hospital on Sunday night over the phone and as always enquired about my son and about my health now since I am pregnant.  Here he was one moment talking to me and two nights later he is lying in his hospital bed lifeless.  How can this be?! How do I accept this? I did not see this coming at all.  The doctors seemed confident until just a day before his death.  Who do I appeal to and say this is not fair? I did not even say goodbye to him. He did not get to see my son who he was so eager to spend time with.  My parents were due to come and stay with me this March and now my father is never going to visit me ever.  If I sound desperate, it is true, I am.  The abrupt ending to his life feels cruel to those of us left behind.  Yes, I am incredibly grateful that he led a long healthy life, a very very successful one at that and had a sense of completion of all his duties and died without too much suffering except for the last two days.  But I am not ready to let go.  I still have not though he has physically left us.  I keep thinking he is alive some place and will visit me some day.  Living in denial seems more bearable for the moment.  I realize now how hollow my words of consolation must have been to my friends who faced such loss.  Only time can make the pain less acute but the void will remain.  During moments of joy even more than sad ones.  When my second child arrives, I will look for my father to come and hold the baby with a beaming face like he did when my first son arrived.  We have a brilliant photograph of my mother and father holding my son bursting with joy.  I keep thinking I could have accepted this loss better had he come and stayed with me as he had wanted to and had his life ended next year.  But it is not for me to choose, destiny has made it’s choice.  It did not give me a chance to plead.  My father - the man with a majestic personality, the man who lost his father at age nine and became a very successful engineer all on his own effort and enterprise, the man who could relate to both young and old effortlessly, the handsome young man he was in his youth who retained his charismatic personality and maintained his physical health till his final days, who earned all the wealth he had all on his own, who has helped innumerable number of people in so many ways, who has been a guide to so many people I have come to know through their letters and calls after his death,  who along with my wonderful mother raised his six children and many more who have stayed at his household always open to anyone in need….above all a wonderful father to all of us and a very dear one especially to me his last born “Kadai kutti” as he liked to call me,  who showered me with care and concern….my father with whom I have argued so much, who put up with me and loved me despite it all, who prayed for me during all the important moments in my life…that colossus of a man is no more.  I hugged his face like I never have before and begged him to look at me…at that moment I felt like he was a child – pure and guileless in his sleep.  I never did openly tell him how much he meant to me and how much I loved him.  I look for him every where and now I am reconciled to only look for him in my son’s bright eyes and beaming smile, in the little things he does that remind me of my father.  While I cry inside saying “Appa, Appa, Appa”,  I would like to think he is in a better place and his presence is here, there and everywhere around me – in the memories he has given me, in all the ways I nurture my children the way he (and my mother) did, and for ever in my heart.  I now pray (however selfishly) for a long and healthy life for my mother who is our source of strength in this time of loss. 

 

I asked my friend (asakiyume) to send me this poem by Mary Frye which I read at his memorial service.  It is a nice one for a time like this.

 

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

 

01:40 pm: Something new for 2007

Posting after a long break...Well a couple of people who read my posts already know this - I am pregnant with the second child due end of June.  That hasn't so much been the reason for my break from posting - just a whole bunch of things and mentally not having the free time to write much...Hmm...that sounds like an excuse - just was not in the mood I guess!
Unlike some mothers who very much want a second (and some bold ones I know here are superwomen - have more than two!) I actually found this to be a difficult decision for me.  I was very happy with just one child.  I did not desire to have a second child nor did I look forward to going through pregnancy all over again.  I had planned to join a program (with a fellowship that is awarded to very few students each year) but having a child meant giving up both the admission and the fellowship.  I knew that if I did have a second I would have to postpone getting back to the work/study world for that much longer.  That was not the only reason but everything put together I really hesistated to even think about having a second child.  I feel there is so much pain and suffering in this world, why bring one more child into this world.  I feel/felt guilty even about wanting to have our own child when there are so many in need of a home.  Yet the desire to have our own was strong and I also did not want to adopt - I was ready to just support a lot of children (I am involved with a home for children) rather than adopting one - I feared how it would be if I regretted the adoption - the guilt would kill me.  Illogical as it may seem, I felt more at liberty to feel anger during difficult moments with my own child than with an adopted one.
The first child, I was looking forward to it.  Everything was novel and I felt completely at peace.  For the second, I wanted my child to have a sibling (and the two of them for each other) and that was the only driving force behind my decision. I could not imagine my life without my siblings and I wanted my child to also have that joy.  At least if we were in India I would feel like my child would have a lot of family interaction and even friends often behave like family and while that comes with it's own share of problems, there is a sense of liberty and greater warmth in the interaction.  But here in the US esp for people like us who are moving every few years from one house to another and family totally spread apart all over the country, you feel like your child grows up quite alone.  I know some children who really question their mothers as to why they don't have a sibling when their close friends do...tough spot to be in. 
One of my brothers was totally not in favor of me having a second (he has one son) and the other one (who also has only one son) was always trying to convince me not to make the mistake of having just one child!  My mother ofcourse was all in favor of it and I suppose she thinks I make this decision too - she wanted me to badly have a girl!  My husband was sure we should have two children.  If he had had any doubts about it, we would not have gone for it since I was so unsure of it myself.  Anyway - with a lot of trepidation I did make the decision that I would give it a few months and if within that time I did get pregnant, we would indeed have a second child.  I found out I was pregnant just a day before my mother-in-law passed away.  I did not even get around to telling her about it - she would have been so happy to know about it.  I went to India for her funeral and came back in two weeks.  I had to deal with 10 days of jetlag with my son along with my first trimester nausea - not so much throwing up - but just a total lack of appetite and hence a constant feeling of hunger.  It was also getting dark very early since it is winter and my husband was working late hours each day and weekends to catch up on the two weeks of work that had piled up when he was away in India.  Those were depressing 10 days.  The joys of raising a child are endless but you really earn the joy with a lot of hardwork.  And I do feel that while working mothers have to face a different set of challenges, sahm's have to deal with a lot of mental drain - you don't get a break to just do something for yourself - not even read something in total peace for an hour - it is a a difficult thing to get used to.  It is a choice you make no doubt, but that doesn't make it easier.  Well, I have got through the first trimester and I am able to eat a lot better though I have not gained any weight at all.  I am looking forward to knowing the gender of the baby - my friend who is also pregnant is trying hard to convince me not to find out and I am trying hard to convince her to find out the gender! Anyway - that's the news from my end.  I am ok with either gender really - with the first one I was so eager and was so sure it would be a girl - it took me a day to mentally readjust when the ultrasound technician casually told me "oh by the way it's a boy!".  Now I am ok with a boy or a girl - just praying for a healthy child!  Taking it by the day now...hopefully everything will go well and we will have a healthy child.  I cannot imagine what it will be like to deal with two children at the same time.  My son is a good natured child but he does give me a difficult time when it comes to eating - it drains me out to feed him his meals three times a day - I do hope that changes for the better so I have the energy to cope with feeding two children at the same time!  Plenty of changes and new things to look forward to in 2007!

 

11:17 pm:

I read this article

( Read more... )

 

in the NYT and I found it quite astounding. I hardly come across news items that are totally shocking or where I am just not able to understand the other person's perspective. If the news is about some horrific act commited by someone, it will be so horrific that you can surely conclude that the person is not a normal person otherwise. And there are so many weird things you read about in the news that you hardly even find those news items shocking. But this was something I could not understand. This is the gist of what my rant is about:

The article reviews the use of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, or P.G.D., a process in which embryos are created in a test tube and their DNA is analyzed before being transferred to a woman’s uterus. In this manner, embryos destined to have, for example, cystic fibrosis or Huntington’s disease can be excluded, and only healthy embryos implanted.
Yet Susannah A. Baruch and colleagues at the Genetics and Public Policy Center at Johns Hopkins University recently surveyed 190 American P.G.D. clinics, and found that 3 percent reported having intentionally used P.G.D. “to select an embryo for the presence of a disability.”
In other words, some parents had the painful and expensive fertility procedure for the express purpose of having children with a defective gene. It turns out that some mothers and fathers don’t view certain genetic conditions as disabilities but as a way to enter into a rich, shared culture.

I absolutely cannot understand this. One of the commenters (if you read the comments section) has expressed anger that people have spewed so much venom against people with defects - I think she has completely misunderstood those comments - it is not that people are expressing anger towards people who are born with defects and have learnt to live with it - I do think in fact at least the people who have commented here are all possibly people with compassion for those who endure and overcome such difficulties - the anger is towards parents who would intentionally choose to have children with defects. It is like saying "I was abused, I learnt to deal with it and learnt so much from overcoming it and am so much the richer for it, hence I plan to abuse my child too". Extreme as it sounds that's how I feel . How can you intentionally choose to have a baby with cystic fibrosis? It is not about your (the parents) choice, your ego but it is about what the child has to endure for life without ever having had a choice about it. When a CF child is not able to breathe freely and is enduring so much pain, is the parent going to think, well I made the right choice for my child?! This is tantamount to abuse even before birth in my opinion. Even if you take dwarfism, which one may argue is just about height and society just has to learn to deal with the difference - it is not just that - there is much more to it - people with dwarfism may also be affected by a lot of other health problems related to it. I feel if parents want to live in a shared culture where their child too has a similar defect they could adopt such a child. I can understand wanting your own child but why would you decide to control the child's health - it is not just about what soceity accepts as normal - but there is a very perceptible thing called pain that any person with any health defect has to endure. Both physically and emotionally. The comments from readers are varied and very interesting because you find a lot of people with health problems who feel offended by any opposition to this. But there are also quite a few people who have been born with genetic defects who have written that they would definitely not intentionally do that to their child. What I found really unbelievable was that there are doctors who are willing to do this and that it is legal to do this. But then again when I think about abortion - which is actually killing a fetus - which is worse? It is very hard to say. If I think of a life time of suffering for a child I suppose I would find abortion acceptable - depending on the nature of the illness. Some are really painful and debilitating and some are just a matter of teaching the child to cope with the difference. Either way I am not able to understand an intentional choice to create a child who would be born with a genetic defect. 

02:33 pm: The new life

Mohan had told her not to wear Indian outfits when she took her afternoon walk to the supermarket near their town home.  “There are very few immigrants in this area, so until we move just try to blend in, Charu. Wear jeans and none of those ornaments or bindhi” he had told her the first day he left for work leaving her alone in her new surroundings.  A bold red bindhi on her forehead, kumkum on the parting of her hair, long braid dancing along with the pallu of her saree, bright yellow mangalsutra, dazzling diamond ear rings, she spelt newly wed even from a distance.  She had fallen in love with her husband and loved to think of him during her afternoon walk, admiring the snow covered mountains she could see in the distance. 

     He was a tall white man who looked like a decent person but had sprung out of nowhere.  She didn’t know when he started walking close to her.  He offered to help her carry the milk cartons she was lugging back home.  She refused politely but he had insisted.  As they walked the two blocks to her home, the silence had been unnerving.  She thought of running but she knew it would be pointless considering the snow mounds everywhere and the heavy jacket and saree she was in.  “I have to go to the front office to get something.  Thank you for helping” she lied to him, grabbed the bags and hurried to the front office in her housing complex.  She had recited slokas all along her walk back and thanked god a million times for getting her home safely.  She called Mohan from the pay phone and told him to hurry home that evening.  She was dying of thirst and felt weak and hungry after she hung up the phone.  “I am probably being overly paranoid” she told herself.  “Wonder if I locked the yard door when I left” she thought to herself fearfully as she walked towards her home.  She unlocked the front door, entered her home and bolted the door.  She felt the loud silence and wished Mohan had been home already.  He had asked her to wait for a couple of hours in the front office until he got home.  "Don't go home if you are nervous.  I told you not to look so conspicuous! I will try to get home early ok. Don't panic" he had told her sweetly as she melted all over again thinking of her lovely husband.  The office was about to close for the holiday weekend and she had felt uncomfortable to linger around for no reason.  She missed home.  She had never ever walked into an empty home before this she realized.  Her mother and patti were always home when she got back from college.  Suddenly the excitement of the new life and the beauty of the snow morphed into a feeling of loneliness and isolation.  Exhausted she sat on the couch and put her head back and controlled her tears.  She reached for the remote control and turned on the TV.  “America’s most wanted” was playing at that moment.  The talk show host showed a picture of the man as drawn by the sketch artist.  It looked just like him.  She screamed in utter fear and instinctively ran to the door by the staircase.  Just that instant she saw the latch move to the right.  She screamed even louder and headed for the kitchen to escape through the garage door.  Mohan walked in to see her ashen face.  “I cannot live here anymore” she sobbed into her shaking hands.

 

04:38 pm: The moment...
Fiction.

Ananthan worshipped his father.  “Sangeedham’naa anandan appa’va minja mudiyuma?!  Epperpatta vidwan avar!”  -  he often heard his neighbor Kanakavalli mami tell her son.  Ananthan’s father fondly called his son “Aanandha” and would teasingly lapse into “Aanandha anandhamdha dhanamdha” while calling him to come and play for him.  It was strange to see a light sense of humor in the interactions with his son considering he was otherwise a straight faced and serious musician.   Ananthan was initiated into playing the Mridangam at the age of four by his guru, the legendary Mudumbai Krishnamachari, his beloved father.  Both his mother and father saw natural talent and a great sense of rhythm in the child and got him started at an early age.  His father was a musical genius and could play both Mridangam and Veena even though he was famous as a vocalist. 

Ananthan was passionate about his music.  His mother often recalled how as a child he would mumble “kidathaka tham” in his sleep.  He would keep beat with his feet even when he was half asleep if he heard a song playing on the radio.  Every morning at 5.00 am when his father would do his “Sadakam”, Ananthan would wake up on his own and keenly observe and learn.  He did not know mathematics at that young age but he intuitively grasped the complex patterns of swarams that his father would spontaneously break into while singing.  His father was “Swara Chakravarthi” after all.  When his father rendered the kalpanaswara, Ananthan would sit mesmerized in front of him.  His father’s genius came through in not just the complexity of the patterns but in the grace and flow the swaras carried along.   The accompanying artist had to be mature and confident in his skills to keep up with his father during such renditions.  Ananthan attained fame as a child artist and soon enough accompanied many stalwarts at various concerts.  Yet, he could not get himself to accompany his father on stage.  He had refused to even when he was 10 years old.  He did not measure up to his own expectations as the son of this music genius.  Yet the challenge gnawed at him for years.  He went on to become a successful engineer while keeping up with his music but he was not a single-minded musician like his father.  His life felt incomplete for not having faced his own fears. 

Four years after Ananthan’s marriage, his wife Lakshmi announced to him that she was pregnant.  Everyone in the family was elated by the news.  It was a turning point for him.  It was then that he decided that he would in fact accompany his father on stage at the opening concert for the December season.  He could not explain what prompted him to take that decision himself.  He had wanted to do it all along but could not muster the courage to do so.  The majestic image of his father, his resounding voice, the reverent audience, the rapt attention when he worked through complex patterns while singing swarams all left him weak with admiration in front of a giant.  He could not understand his own reservation or fear.  Yet it was perceptible in his mind.  The fear of missing a beat…of letting down his father.  He could not bear the thought.  Yet he decided the time had come – he had to put himself through the ultimate test of his talent and confidence. 

The crowds thronged through the gates at the opening concert.  Women in dazzling silks fresh jasmines and fine jewellery, middle aged men in kurtas and thathas in crisp white jarigai veshti and shirt.  Mothers held their children by hand and brought them in eager to have them listen to the legendary musician about to perform.  There was an added sizzle to this year’s concert since father and son were on stage together for the firs time.  The sabha chairman reveled in the moment and gave a lengthy speech on music and introduced the artists.  The curtains were drawn.  His father sat center stage chest forward, head held high, his thiruman bold on his forehead, his hair in a close crop and his angavastram adding a tinge of color to the white of his veshti and shirt.  His father was a giant whose talent spoke for him but the man himself was most unassuming and the accolades barely touched him. In his father’s mind, music was his god and he served god through his industry and dedication to music.  His face was radiant with the peace that comes with such dedication and there were no signs of any anxiety in him.  The accompanying violinist who had played many concerts with his father looked at Ananthan kindly as if to assure him that all was going to be well.  His father started off the concert with the Ata thala varnam “Viriboni”.  Ananthan played along with his father.  He felt at that moment that he was born all over again.  He was there in front of the world in silent admiration of the colossus that was his father and yet at that moment performing with him as an artiste worthy of being there.  At that moment he knew without a doubt that he would match his father’s vidwat and keep pace with him.  He felt a surge of pride and elation and bowed to the creator in his mind and thanked him for the gift of music.   It was at that moment that he felt he had become an adult.  Worthy of becoming a father himself.  They had finished the varnam to loud applause from the excited crowd.  He thought to himself “Yentharo Mahanu Bhavulu Anthariki Vandhanamu (I salute all the Mahanubhava or noble souls)”. 

03:47 pm: deponti tagged me to state 6 weird things about me...

Each player of this game starts with the "6 weird things about you". People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Tag

 

1)     I love my tea and coffee with lots of sugar (I leave it to you to guess how many packets of sugar for one “tall” (i.e.small) cup of Starbucks coffee! My husband refuses to get sugar for me from the condiment stand) but I like to have my cappuccino without any sugar at all!

2)     Sometimes I start laughing at some joke and I just cannot stop laughing – just goes on and on!

3)     I often end up laughing at the wrong moments – thankfully usually in the privacy of my home – esp while watching movies when the scene is very emotional I end up laughing.  (For ex – in “Anjali movie – “Yeandhru Anjali” scene – not meant for laughs – but I did laugh).  Also when I am tense about something I end up laughing at every little thing.

4)     I can’t stand it if my palm or my feet are wet when I am doing something. If I am cooking I have to have a towel with me to keep wiping my hands dry each time I touch water.

5)     I share this weirdness with itsalouwelylife  - I too cannot stand dirt in my feet – esp when I go to bed – I have to scrub it clean before getting into bed.

6)     I can eat boiled egg or completely scrambled eggs masked with onions etc once in a rare while but if I smell egg in a kulcha or a cake I just cannot go near it.

Hmm - I cannot tag deponti and asakiyume or itsalowelylife back again! :) I tag now beast_666</div></div>

 

[Unknown LJ tag]

03:52 pm: Live and let live

Of late I have begun to notice the kinds of remarks people – in my position as a mom I notice this more – moms make to each other.  Quite often it ends up being advice that is either patronizing or irritating or remarks that are purely thoughtless and insensitive.  I wonder if people think before or after they make such remarks to other mothers.

 

-        Woman with two children telling another who has been trying for a child and going through IVF wanting her own child “You know, you can adopt, why don’t you think about that?”.

 

-        Woman with two chubby kids telling another who has a child who is naturally not the weight gaining type “ My god, the child has not grown at all since the last time I saw him five months back!”

 

-        Stay at home mom telling a working mother without having any clue as to why she may have chosen to keep her job “ You know I would never allow anyone else to take care of my baby”

 

-        A friend telling another breast feeding mother “You mean you are still breast feeding your daughter?! She is probably not even getting enough milk from you!”

 

-        A working mother to another one who stopped pumping milk after 3 or 4 months: “Oh, I pumped and pumped for a long time.  I just would not allow even a drop of formula for my baby!”

 

-        A working mom with an older child to one about to deliver and has taken a break from work to have children (because her job involves field work) and is very nervous about labor pains: “Well, you know I was very active and working at my job till the day of delivery – so I did not have any problems with labor (this is a software analyst who always sat at her desk and often worked from home).

 

-        One mom to another who’s child doesn’t like to eat Indian food often “ Oh, my children – at school they can have pasta or pizza, but at home, I insist, only rice and dal”

 

-        Mother of a rambunctious toddler telling the mother of a rather mild mannered one “My child is very active and energetic.  You saw how in one second he broke that candy bowl”

 

-        One mom who took epidural during delivery telling another who didn’t “Oh, that’s a no-brainer – you should have taken it!”

 

-        One mother telling another mother of a rather picky eater “I trained my kids from when they were young to eat all kinds of food”

 

Examples of this nature abound.  I too was guilty of making a judgemental remark just a couple of days ago while talking to my good friend.  She told me about her colleague who sent her second child to her parents place in India for a little while.  I told my friend immediately “God, why do people have kids and then send them away with grandparents, why bother?!”.  My friend then told me that her friend’s husband was extremely controlling with money and she was afraid to lose her job trying to manage two kids and become completely dependent on him.  Now it is easy to say walk out in that case, but such decisions are personal and not simple.  I realized that I was quick to judge and felt bad about it.  I wish we could all give each other space and know that especially when it comes to children, every mom tries her best.  And even if not, it is really not our business unless it is a case of abuse.  Many of these remarks either annoyed the person at the receiving end or really hurt the person and made them feel guilty needlessly.  There is no need to feel one up by taking jabs at the other person.  To each her own…

 

03:40 pm: My mother-in-law

I was away in India for the last couple of weeks for a very sad reason – my mother-in-law passed away suddenly at age 65.  She had a congenital heart defect that had not been diagnosed when she was born or for that matter until she was 50 or so.  She had been so energetic and had given birth to two children, had done a lot of physical work while raising them and her heart had coped so well through it all.  Even in the last couple of months the doctors at the teaching college in Bangalore used to call her as a subject to show students how there are people with heart defects who almost beat it and keep active.  Since her diagnosis 12 years back she has been on several medications, diet restrictions and worst of all restriction in the amount of water she could drink per day.  If I think about that it really breaks my heart.  She was very disciplined about it and did everything in her capacity to fight her limitation and live on.  She took art of living courses and never failed to do her breathing exercises each day.  I have never seen a patient who was on so many medications and diet restrictions be so patient and calm and never show any irritation or anger from having to go through it all.  She never complained – she silently just fought it.  Had she been educated she would have scaled great heights for she was very sharp and could be in with the times and grasp things quickly.  Even when I explained some scientific concept to her she grasped it immediately and responded with understanding and left me amazed.  While there may have been minor irritations natural in such a relationship, I really respected her as a person and we shared a friendly relationship.  She was not openly warm and fuzzy but she would show that she cared in many other ways.  If I asked her for a particular kind of kurta, she would go out of her way to get exactly that for me.  At her funeral ceremony an older relative told me that she had mentioned things in praise of me to her – I never knew she ever thought those things of me.  She was a great mother to her two children – she used to celebrate their every victory but would never brag about it to anyone.  She had religiously saved all my husband’s prize books, certificates and any mention of him in newspapers and gave it to me after our wedding.  In all those little ways she showed them how much she celebrated their achievements.  She used to call us from Bangalore and leave us messages for our birthdays and anniversary.  She loved hearing every detail about any interesting thing our son did.  She knew no fear so much so her cousins fondly referred to her as “Captain”.  She lost her mother when she was barely eight and grew up in a large joint family with Aunts and Uncles as caretakers.  After growing up in a liberal family, she married into a rather conservative one.  But she adjusted to her new surroundings and coped with any challenges that came her way.  She did not have a maid for housework because she felt she could do it herself.  Only after her diagnosis she hired a maid to help out.  She was a fantastic cook, could sew all kinds of clothes and was skilled at handicrafts.  She would not miss any wedding or function she was invited to on principle.  She loved people and was extremely hospitable.  She loved sports and used to stay up nights watching cricket, tennis or soccer matches with her son.  My husband now recalls so many little incidents and all the things his mother did for him.  In the four and half years that I have known her, I too have become quite fond of her.  We will miss her terribly.  We have a few more spoons of the “Avakai” pickle she made for us this year – we don’t have the heart to finish it.  She was a courageous and patient woman who lived her life to the fullest.  Death is final and leaves you wishing you had said this or done that but there are no second chances.  It only leaves you with one thing to hold on to – memories.

06:08 pm: Baby's first class

On Wednesday Oct.11.06, I took my child to his first class – “Gym for tots”. It is a class where kids and their parents get together in one room filled with interesting play items (a tunnel leading to a play house filled with colored balls for example). Kids indulge in playtime that is then followed by some music time where everyone sings children’s songs sitting in a circle. I keep telling myself that I am not going to be the kind of parent who will overdose the child with an assortment of classes that fills up all the free time and doesn’t leave much room for just being a child. My friend says “There is so much peer pressure…I visit my friends and relatives and their children are in so many classes and know so much, I feel nervous if I don’t do the same for my child”. I think of what she said when she called me while driving her five year old to a Kumon class. Will I be able to subscribe to what my husband believes is a good thing – benign neglect? He says we should nurture what the child enjoys doing and provide the environment for him to learn but not push him. I agree with him and I too believe in that. Yet, when I look at the assortment of classes offered even for a child as young as one plus, I waver a little and wonder where to draw the line. The advertisements are meant to lure you to bring your child in and tap the genius – just in case! I tell myself I will not subject him to unnecessary pressure which I certainly did not enjoy myself and I do strongly believe that it kills creativity when you leave no breathing room for a child to just be. Well, even just ten years from now I hope I look back on this post to see how I have faired in this respect! My child may have more to say on that topic then! :)

03:28 pm: Single moms

Every night after our baby goes to bed (he sleeps between 10.00 and 10.30pm) I come to the living room (usually to find husband dear snoozing away with a book in hand!) and we try to get some quiet time when we either watch a movie or “Law and order” or just read/chat.  But whatever it is we end up doing, invariably we will talk very fondly about something that our baby did that day.  He could have done that very thing just the day before yet we like to discuss it like it is some major achievement. 

Me - “You know today in the park Bubbly (oft used pet name) touched a dog for the first time”

Hub - “Wow, really?”

Me - “Yeah, he saw the dog by the soft ball field and he kept saying “Baa Baa” and the lady said “He can pet him”…so I took him near the dog and he scratched it’s nose…it was so cute you know! It was a Golden retriever. Dog looked so kind or I wouldn’t have gone near it”

Hub - “He is so cute!”

Me - “Yeah, you should have seen him, it was so cute how he scratched the dog!”

Hub - “Can I go and bring him here now?!”

Me - “NO!!!!”

 

As I think about how much joy both me and my husband get from talking to each other about our baby and all the little things he does, I wonder how it is for single moms.  I really wonder.  I cannot imagine not being able to tell someone every single day about all the little things that my child did.  Something about sharing makes the experience so wonderful.  Being a mother is an incredible joy but it also brings with it incredible amount of work, trials and frustrations.  Depending on the choice you make, be it a working mom or a stay at home, it still is a lot of work – just the kind of work is different.  Stay at home moms have to bear with the monotony of life while knowing that they could have been working or studying during that time had they chosen to do so.  They enjoy all that time they have with the child and they also grudge all that they had to miss out on because of that even if it was their own decision.  The monotony is given some respite when the father comes home – gives the mom a person to vent to freely, a person to share concerns and joys with the one person who is sure to enjoy it and have the same level of care and concern as the mom.  For a working mom, the father of the child can share in the duties of dropping off the baby in day care, in having a choice as to who will take off from work if the child falls sick and all the rest of the same issues with regards to raising a child. 

Do single moms ever get a break?  How do they find the energy to do it? Some of them do have the fathers visiting but I cannot imagine that it would be the same as the father being an integral part of the household.  I have renewed respect for single moms ever since I had a child because now I know what it entails.  It is not just about providing for a child.  It is about all the little moments as well as the big ones.  To have the other person right there to look up to and see their face also light up in joy when the baby does something new…to have the other person also stay up at night and worry when the child falls ill.  To have the other person say "OK, you go rest, or you go talk to your friend, I will take the baby out for a walk".  If I had to do it alone, I would probably be shouting hysterically at my child if he gave me a hard time and I did not have any one right there giving me a break.  I cannot rave about all the little things my child does to any one else so freely without worrying about boring them.  With the father, I can.  Any number of times! Knowing he too will feel the same joy.  Single moms with a lot of money probably have nannies helping them with the physical work.  But that is just one side of it anyway.  There are plenty of single moms with not just one but two or three children who have to do it all on their own.  What ever it is the life circumstance that made them a single mom, my heart does go out to them.  I admire them for their patience and courage in facing it and moving on with their lives.  Now that I am a mother, I think of the scores of women all over the world who have lost their husbands and hence the father of their child/children to war, to fateful accidents, to terrorist activities, to disease…I wish that whatever power it is that took something so important away from them also gives them strength and makes up for it in the bigger picture of life by giving them and their children good health, luck, success and happiness.  
And I can't help but add "Thank you god for big mercies, knock on wood" thinking about my own life now.

 

11:45 am: Baked Okra

Baked Okra

 

I made a baked okra dish recently.  Okra has this problem that unless it is cooked right, it can get sticky. Either it should be dry before putting it in oil or you need to fry it for a while and in a good amount of oil if you want cooked okra that is not sticky.  But I found that baking the okra gives good cooked okra that is not sticky and doesn’t need a ton of oil. 

 

Pre heat oven to 425F

 

Okra – I don’t know how much okra I used that day – let’s say about 50 okras! Cut into 1 or 1.5 inch pieces.

 

Tomatoes – 2 – cut into small pieces (Vine ripened tomatoes preferably)

 

Onions – 2 medium – cut into medium size pieces

 

Ginger and Garlic – optional – according to taste – one or two pods of garlic chopped fine and ½ inch of ginger – I use big pieces so I can take it out!

 

Hand full of finely chopped coriander.

 

Cut all three vegetables, ginger, garlic, coriander  and keep in a flat glass pan.  Add 2 or 3 table spoons of oil, add chilli powder (depending on how hot you like it), salt .

 

Mix it all well.  I added MDH garam masala powder (just 1 tea spoon to give some masala flavor but not too much). Spread it evenly flat on the pan.

 

Keep it in the oven for 15 min. Check if it is cooked. Keep 5 min longer if it could be cooked a little more.  I judge it based on how the tomatoes look.  If they look nicely cooked and mashed, then it is done.  Mix it well.

 

It tasted quite good. Goes well with rotis. And it was easy to make – I just cut the veggies, added the powders and mixed it and 20 min later it was ready. I didn’t have to add it one by one or stir it or anything. And okra was not at all sticky. I find that if I wash the okra a couple of hours before cutting it , the water dries out and dry okra is easier to cook.

 

 

11:24 am: Tamil post - mylapore mami arattai

12:43 pm: Meal time joy!

The little boss is carried by papa slave and gently placed on his booster throne.  He sits there with his big puppy eyes glancing nonchalantly at the bowl of food on the table.  Me, the mama slave pulled the chair in front of him and sat down for the meal time tussle.  I bring the electronic rhyme book close to me on the table and then take a spoonful of food and bring it to little boss’s mouth.  Swish, the face moves away to the right.  The royal diss.  “Chinnu, you can’t do this, it’s lunch time”. 

Well he is one, sure he understands the logic there! I try again.  Face moves to the left now. 

OK, let’s play some songs.  I open the rhyme book and move some knob and the cow maa’s and I hear “hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle” for the nth time.  Little boss is distracted and I bring the spoon of food eagerly and he now opens his mouth.  I try to load up the spoon fully and thrust as much as possible at this opportunity.  I think of my little nephew (my younger cousin’s son who is 3 now) who saw me do this when I was visiting them.  He couldn’t help but speak for his kin and said to me in his innocent baby voice “Peimaa, don’t give lot of ok, don’t give lot of!”. 

“But, Aadhu, if I don’t give it like that he will eat slowly”

“Slow is OK, don’t give lot of !”, he continued to plead with me like I was a monster who thrust food into my hapless baby. 

The next spoon, I load a little less food.

Two more spoons and boss is bored of the two songs in that page, he wants to move on the next.

But the spoon is in front of his mouth and I try to get my way in before turning the page for him.

“Nah ahn…turn the page”, he signals to me by moving his mouth away from the spoon calmly.

I try again.

“Which part of no don’t’ you understand?” . He moves his face away from the spoon while looking at the book and whines “Ahhnnn…”!

I give in.  I turn the page.

“Old Mcdonald had a farm…”

Five more spoons in rapid succession while the boss is engrossed in moving the door of the farm and hearing the pigs oink and cows moo.  He looks at me again and not wanting to lose the flow, I start singing Old Mcdonald in a high pitch.  Poor Ol’McDonald will be stirring in his grave begging me to stop summoning his farm animals million times a day to make my son eat his food.

I begin to relax a little. Looks like the flow is going okay.  He is taking the food easily.

And invariably it happens.  I tell myself not to jinx it by thinking such thoughts and yet I do it.  The boss catches me off guard and grabs the spoon at the head. 

“Hmm….what’s this gooy stuff in my hand?”… Pchk pchk…he rubs his hands.

I rush in with a paper towel and wipe his hands.  Before I am fully done, he yanks his hand out and decides his nose is itchy and rubs his hand over his nose, eyes.  Sticky paruppu sadam all over his face now.

“Such joy” I tell myself angrily and wet the towel and clean his face up.

I try to contain my anger and start singing again.

“Wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round”!

He takes mercy on me I suppose.  Few more spoons of food go in.

Suddenly he looks up to see papa slave sitting on the couch in front of the laptop enjoying the lazy Sunday morning.  Papa gives him a sweet smile and boss’s face is now completely at an odd angle relative to me.

Papa shakes his head left to right that the boss finds funny and shakes his head vigorously left to right smiling just when I bring the food near his mouth.  Now there is a “Got milk?” kind of food moustache on the little one’s mouth.  I glare and gnarl at papa slave and tell him, “Why don’t YOU do the feeding?!”.

“I will, but he is not taking food from me, you know that” papa says in his oh so pragmatic manner.

I remember the last time I handed the food for papa to feed, I was handed the bowl back with hardly any food eaten with the simple comment “I don’t think he is interested in lunch”! 

“Well, then come and entertain him now that you have distracted him”.

Papa slave immediately responds and brings the “Alphabet pal” toy – a caterpillar with each of its legs a different letter. 

Boss responds to the change and allows me to feed him a few more spoonfulls.   My heart is beating faster now for I am nearing the end of my journey.  For now. Until the next meal.  I do wonder if there is some kind of baby genie who is invoked by children to seek vengeance on mothers who insist on boring meals and adds a few more spoonfuls of food at the end phase.  I mean it just never ends.  I cannot have the satisfaction of a cleaned up bowl.  I simply cannot garner any more patience in me to wait while the little boss listens to one full song and then swallows the food.  One more song and then he opens his mouth for the next.  I console myself that he has eaten most of it even if not all of it.  I feel victorious.  Relieved feeling that baby dear ate most of the food despite the song and dance routine, the wet towels and spilt food.  I just get out of the spot abruptly and tell papa slave “Ok, he is done”.

It is understood that the rest of the clean up is not my domain.  I went through the drill of feeding the little boss after all!

I call my friend (parent of a 4yr old) and invariably we discuss our kid’s meals.  I tell her “Not bad, he took an hour, but he ate most of it”.

“Oh good, don’t jinx it for tonight” she says in a way only a mother can understand!

I sit on the couch and decide to check my email and forget about “solids” until it is time for dinner!

05:24 pm: The march of the penguins

02:37 pm: Deponti song
I am posting a song that Deponti sang at the concert she gave for our son's first birthday function. It is a song in the Raga Miyan Ki Malhar (same raga as "Bholo re papihara"). It is a very beautiful melody and she sang it in such a heartfelt manner - it was lovely and moving. This recording is very very bad - first of all it was what the video camera microphone picked up amidst all the noise. And then I recorded it with a microphone attached to the laptop when the DVD was playing. So overall not great recording. But it gives you an idea... 
Hope Deponti doesn't kill me for posting such a bad recording of her lovely voice! 

http://www.box.net/public/bceb9e118j