Kuttan was one of th sunniest and most cheerful babies I ever knew. Not that I knew many but considering the mountains of baby literature I had read and the folklore I had heard from everyone from amma to my neighbour's maid about sleepless nights and crying babies, when the real thing happened, I found the going surprisingly easy.
One of my closest friends tell me I am the most optimistic persons she knows. She is 2 years younger than me and when she finally became pregnant, she came to yours truly for advice. How difficult is it, she asked me, a veteran who had a year old baby by then. Oh, no problem, I told her airily. Do anything you want to. Morning sickness? I had none. Tiredness? Drowsiness? The kind of lethargy that was usually a part of the first trimester? No, no and no again. The only time I puked was when I stuffed my face with a greasy chocolate cake from a bakery with questionable hygiene. Yes, yes, I was pregnant and still went around eating from places like these quite happily. You can do it too, I told her for good measure. Just as well that she wisely chose to ignore my advice.
The delivery? Was a c-sec. The easiest c-sec ever. I did not have a moment of labor. I went in and came out with a baby and that was the end of that. When the baby finally arrived, he was so quiet on the first day at the hospital that the nurses actually crowded around his crib to see this 'baby whi never cried'. I and amma as usual worried about it and begged and pleaded with his paed to check if everything was ok with him. The doctor told us in utter exasperation that we were two women who could'nt recognise a good thing when we saw it and he was surprised that such a happy baby had come out of me!! Anyway, all that changed on day 2 when kuttan decided to give us what we asked for and let out wails that were enough to wake the dead. All night long.
But apart from doing stuff that babies must ABSOLUTELY DO, like crying and peeing and pooping the MINUTE I sit down to eat, I have had it remarkably easy all this time. He started sleeping through the night by the time he was 6 months old and I have never had a chance to fret whether I will EVER get a full night of sleep. I have'nt had trouble weaning him or toilet training him. He has always been an extremely happy baby, at peace with himself and the world.
Obviously when things are so perfect that I am beginning to think I am all set for the next one, God thinks to Himself, oh no, not that fast. And sure enough, hubby and I have been seeing some remarkable changes in his personality over the last few weeks. And they are not changes I am happy with.
I have been observing an increasing amount of aggression in kuttan. Something which was also observed by his teacher and the neighbour's maid. Every play session ends up in a fight with the other kids with amma and appa having to act as referees. Whereas earlier he would cheerfully go along with the other kids and share his toys, these days he creates a ruckus. Where earlier he would charm the trees off the birds with his smile and sunny disposition, I see him talking back to people and not very politely either.
I see a streak of unruliness in him that was not ther before. And I am worried. I know that this could just be a phase where he is trying to assert his personality and eventually he will be ok again but I miss my baby. As usual, the spectre of working mom guilt rears its ugly head again and I talk it out with the husband till he claims his ears are ready to fall off. 'Maybe I should quit my job', I tell him. As my friend says, that's my solution to everything from the Iraq war to my domestic help's failed marriage. But I do not even know how much that will help. I do get back home by 5.30 and in the software industry that is a miracle by itself. And after that, I spend every minute with kuttan, taking him to the park, playing with him and the other kids, helping him with his homework. How much more will I be able to do as a Stay-at-home mom?
We have never enforced a very strict routine on Kuttan because he just kind of fell into our routine quite easily, without much effort. But I think it's time we instilled some discipline on him in terms of listening to what we say instead of asking us a thousand questions as to why he needs to do something and arguing with us.
A part of me knows what is happening. My baby is growing into a little boy. A spirited, intelligent boy who needs to do something because he BELIEVES in it rather than because amma asked him to. A discerning boy who will fight with his friend if he does not get his turn with the bat instead of allowing his friend to take all the turns himself. A boy who rebels against his mother as she asks him to do one more page of homework before going out to play. I guess I should be happy. But wait a minute....did I tell you he is only three and a half years old? Did the teens come a wee bit early for my son?
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
This one's for you, my love
I guess Yash Raj would never pay us a penny to make our love life into a movie. There is'nt any melodrama, any mush. There are no cute lines or fancy locales. There is no possibility of introducing lengthy, profound dialogues. As far as love stories go, ours was the simplest.
We met in college. We were both part of the college orchestra. He was 2 years my senior. I had a crush, he hid his very well. Both of us refused to talk about it till he had been placed through campus interviews and we did talk then only to awkwardly say, 'let's see, maybe...if everything works out in a couple of years' time' and left the rest unsaid. We were both too devoted to our families to be able to make a greater commitment than that at the said point of time.
To give our parents credit, they appreciated our restraint and gave us the go ahead. No questions asked. There were none to be asked, since we both belonged to the same religion, caste and sub-caste and were even related to each other in a very distant way. And we got married, 6 years ago, almost to the day.
And that's when the real love story began, and continues to this day. This is the man who knows all my deepest fears, my greatest sorrows. The man who opens the door to our apartment simply by recognising my footsteps on the corridor. The eternal giver. My rock who holds me patiently while I rant and rage at the world, my boss, my mother and mother-in-law and waits for the storm to pass. Who senses my tears falling quietly on the pillow and takes me in his arms even when he is sleeping. The man who knows when I am rambling on looking for advice and when I am grumbling only because I need somebody to listen and let me sort it out myself. The man who treats my family with respect and love even while they are driving me nuts.
The man I discuss EVERYTHING with, who always believes in me more than I believe in myself. I have seen him grow from a boy to a man. And what a man he has grown to be. My heart swells with pride at the way he has built our life, brick by brick, with love, understanding and empathy. And at the astounding amount of success he has met with at so young an age. And how he aspires for even more, just so that we can have the best.
And more than anything else, I love the father he is to my son. When kuttan looks at his father with total adoration in his eyes and I see it reflected in his father's eyes, I send out a little prayer of thanks to God Almighty. He, indeed, has made all my dreams come true and I could not possibly want for anything more.
I think my conversation with kuttan a couple of days ago sums it up aptly. So we were lying in bed and cuddling each other as Hubby was doing an assignment in the living room. 'Amma, Avya is my friend', he spoke up suddenly. 'Very good, Kanna.' 'But appa is your deepest friend and best friend, no?'. Yes, my love. My deepest and best friend. And the love of my life. A love that burns so bright that I'm consumed by it sometimes, and is so mellow that I bask in its warmth some other times. He's everything that I ever wanted.
As they say, we've only just started. The best is yet to come. Belated Happy anniversary darling.
We met in college. We were both part of the college orchestra. He was 2 years my senior. I had a crush, he hid his very well. Both of us refused to talk about it till he had been placed through campus interviews and we did talk then only to awkwardly say, 'let's see, maybe...if everything works out in a couple of years' time' and left the rest unsaid. We were both too devoted to our families to be able to make a greater commitment than that at the said point of time.
To give our parents credit, they appreciated our restraint and gave us the go ahead. No questions asked. There were none to be asked, since we both belonged to the same religion, caste and sub-caste and were even related to each other in a very distant way. And we got married, 6 years ago, almost to the day.
And that's when the real love story began, and continues to this day. This is the man who knows all my deepest fears, my greatest sorrows. The man who opens the door to our apartment simply by recognising my footsteps on the corridor. The eternal giver. My rock who holds me patiently while I rant and rage at the world, my boss, my mother and mother-in-law and waits for the storm to pass. Who senses my tears falling quietly on the pillow and takes me in his arms even when he is sleeping. The man who knows when I am rambling on looking for advice and when I am grumbling only because I need somebody to listen and let me sort it out myself. The man who treats my family with respect and love even while they are driving me nuts.
The man I discuss EVERYTHING with, who always believes in me more than I believe in myself. I have seen him grow from a boy to a man. And what a man he has grown to be. My heart swells with pride at the way he has built our life, brick by brick, with love, understanding and empathy. And at the astounding amount of success he has met with at so young an age. And how he aspires for even more, just so that we can have the best.
And more than anything else, I love the father he is to my son. When kuttan looks at his father with total adoration in his eyes and I see it reflected in his father's eyes, I send out a little prayer of thanks to God Almighty. He, indeed, has made all my dreams come true and I could not possibly want for anything more.
I think my conversation with kuttan a couple of days ago sums it up aptly. So we were lying in bed and cuddling each other as Hubby was doing an assignment in the living room. 'Amma, Avya is my friend', he spoke up suddenly. 'Very good, Kanna.' 'But appa is your deepest friend and best friend, no?'. Yes, my love. My deepest and best friend. And the love of my life. A love that burns so bright that I'm consumed by it sometimes, and is so mellow that I bask in its warmth some other times. He's everything that I ever wanted.
As they say, we've only just started. The best is yet to come. Belated Happy anniversary darling.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
A dream that may never be..
This is going to be a difficult post to write. I wondered for a long time whether I should even write it at all. But then, in the end I decided to go ahead because I wanted to sort out the thoughts inside my head and, obviously, I wanted to hear from you guys even though I already know what some of you think about this.
I am an only child as the regular (read 2 nos.) readers of this blog might know. And as Boo has pointed out in her latest post, I always thought our family of 3 was just perfect. I had loads of cousins and extended family staying in Coimbatore and even though we did'nt live under a single roof, we met up very often. I, however, was not very close with any of my cousins while I was growing up. I was always a bit of a precocious child, quiet and shy and was happiest when I was in the company of my books.
Amma and appa made for wonderful company but they were also quite happy to leave me alone in the company of my books and imagination quite often. I have never known the joy of playing long hours under the sun, getting into mischief with cousins and siblings during balmy afternoons while the rest of the household slept, of small adventures in the neighborhood. I always got all the action I wanted from my books. I lost myself in a world of mystery and intrigue, got hopelessly thrilled by the adventures of the Enid Blyton books and the action in the Nancy Drew series well. I started reading these books while other kids my age were still reading Amar Chithra Katha and Tinkle, I moved on to bigger things.
The strange thing about all this is I never felt anything was amiss while I was growing up. I was never the athletic rough and tumble kind anyways and it wasnt long after the last vestiges of childhood were gone and I was married and listened to hubby talk about his childhood did I wish that I had had a little more action-packed eventful childhood. That I had been a little more naughty, a little more bold and daring and had lived, at least for a while, a little dangerously.
Today, after all these years, I wonder if some of my timidity may have been due to lack of company as a child. And it brings to fore uncomfortable questions for me. Do I want to deprive kuttan of a sibling's company the way I was? Is another baby right for us?
When I got married, I never had a single doubt that I would have 2 or more kids. The more the merrier, I thought. Then came the c-section, the nightmarish post-partum recovery period and the intensely frustrating period of the first year of kuttan's life when I quit my job and realised I did'nt enjoy it as much as I thought I would. After a couple of disastrous attempts to get back on the career wagon, I finally succeeded in doing so by the fag end of 2006. Things, touch wood, have been reasonably stable since then.
It seems to be my nature to rock the boat when things are fine because suddenly the desire for another child slowly seemed to be forming in my mind. The famous baby shower with so many moms expecting their second babies strengthened my conviction that it is the right thing to do. When I finally found a moment of peace and quiet that is required to discuss matters of grave importance such as these, I enlisted the err...help of my partner-in-crime. He succinctly said, 'no'.
Simple and straightforward describes husband best. He definitely did not mince words. He reminded me in painfully embarrassing detail about all the times when I had whined and cried about having to stay home. He played his trump card when he cunningly asked me, 'Do you really want to give up your career after having fought for it so hard? And if you don't, can you bear to leave 2 kids instead of one in the daycare day after day? How much time can you spend with them?'. I was defeated hands down. I let things lie low for a while before deciding to take it up on a war footing again. But no matter how much I begged and pleaded, this usually sweet-natured, easy-going man seemed strong-as-steel on this one.
I don't blame him. I think I might have put him off babies forever with all the whining and crying I did. We got married when the husband was barely 25 and had a baby by the time he was 28. He had given up doing all the fun things for 2 years and now he was READY to get back his life..he deserved it. And in many ways, he is right. But that's not why I am still hesitating about this. My reasons are quite, quite different from his.
My first and most important reason is lack of support. Amma has been diabetic for 12 years now. Every year, I see her systems getting weaker and weaker as she battles with this insiduous disease. It took all the energy she had for her to see me through my first delivery. I do not think she has it in her to see me through a second one and I am worried about the effect it could have on her health. The MIL is faring no better in the health department either which basically means we will be left with 2 kids to take care of, all on our own, and the prospect is daunting, to say the least.
My career is another thing that I have to think of. 2 kids definitely means quitting my job. Double the expenses and half the income. But the most important thing is this - it takes two to make a baby and I want both the people to want it just as badly. The husband is an ambitious man. He wants the best in the world for kuttan and me and I love him for it. How can I not? He has taken up the MBA course for this very reason and he will need the flexibilty to experiment and take a risk or two when he is done with it. How can I weigh him down with a baby at that crucial point in his life?
I am not saying that we will never ever have another baby. Life is funny that way. Just when you think you have it all figured out God smiles to himself and alters all your plans. But it is unlikely that it may happen anytime soon.
And still, whenever I see a tiny baby, whenever I hug kuttan and wistfully see the baby frame disappearing and a gangly boyish frame taking its place, when I go to a toy store and see the cutest possible cribs and smallest possible booties that I am sure no human feet can ever fit into, whenever I see the tiniest pattu pavadais and I bury may face into sweet smelling babies of other people, I have to admit, the heart does skip a beat and I desperately wish things could have been different.
I am an only child as the regular (read 2 nos.) readers of this blog might know. And as Boo has pointed out in her latest post, I always thought our family of 3 was just perfect. I had loads of cousins and extended family staying in Coimbatore and even though we did'nt live under a single roof, we met up very often. I, however, was not very close with any of my cousins while I was growing up. I was always a bit of a precocious child, quiet and shy and was happiest when I was in the company of my books.
Amma and appa made for wonderful company but they were also quite happy to leave me alone in the company of my books and imagination quite often. I have never known the joy of playing long hours under the sun, getting into mischief with cousins and siblings during balmy afternoons while the rest of the household slept, of small adventures in the neighborhood. I always got all the action I wanted from my books. I lost myself in a world of mystery and intrigue, got hopelessly thrilled by the adventures of the Enid Blyton books and the action in the Nancy Drew series well. I started reading these books while other kids my age were still reading Amar Chithra Katha and Tinkle, I moved on to bigger things.
The strange thing about all this is I never felt anything was amiss while I was growing up. I was never the athletic rough and tumble kind anyways and it wasnt long after the last vestiges of childhood were gone and I was married and listened to hubby talk about his childhood did I wish that I had had a little more action-packed eventful childhood. That I had been a little more naughty, a little more bold and daring and had lived, at least for a while, a little dangerously.
Today, after all these years, I wonder if some of my timidity may have been due to lack of company as a child. And it brings to fore uncomfortable questions for me. Do I want to deprive kuttan of a sibling's company the way I was? Is another baby right for us?
When I got married, I never had a single doubt that I would have 2 or more kids. The more the merrier, I thought. Then came the c-section, the nightmarish post-partum recovery period and the intensely frustrating period of the first year of kuttan's life when I quit my job and realised I did'nt enjoy it as much as I thought I would. After a couple of disastrous attempts to get back on the career wagon, I finally succeeded in doing so by the fag end of 2006. Things, touch wood, have been reasonably stable since then.
It seems to be my nature to rock the boat when things are fine because suddenly the desire for another child slowly seemed to be forming in my mind. The famous baby shower with so many moms expecting their second babies strengthened my conviction that it is the right thing to do. When I finally found a moment of peace and quiet that is required to discuss matters of grave importance such as these, I enlisted the err...help of my partner-in-crime. He succinctly said, 'no'.
Simple and straightforward describes husband best. He definitely did not mince words. He reminded me in painfully embarrassing detail about all the times when I had whined and cried about having to stay home. He played his trump card when he cunningly asked me, 'Do you really want to give up your career after having fought for it so hard? And if you don't, can you bear to leave 2 kids instead of one in the daycare day after day? How much time can you spend with them?'. I was defeated hands down. I let things lie low for a while before deciding to take it up on a war footing again. But no matter how much I begged and pleaded, this usually sweet-natured, easy-going man seemed strong-as-steel on this one.
I don't blame him. I think I might have put him off babies forever with all the whining and crying I did. We got married when the husband was barely 25 and had a baby by the time he was 28. He had given up doing all the fun things for 2 years and now he was READY to get back his life..he deserved it. And in many ways, he is right. But that's not why I am still hesitating about this. My reasons are quite, quite different from his.
My first and most important reason is lack of support. Amma has been diabetic for 12 years now. Every year, I see her systems getting weaker and weaker as she battles with this insiduous disease. It took all the energy she had for her to see me through my first delivery. I do not think she has it in her to see me through a second one and I am worried about the effect it could have on her health. The MIL is faring no better in the health department either which basically means we will be left with 2 kids to take care of, all on our own, and the prospect is daunting, to say the least.
My career is another thing that I have to think of. 2 kids definitely means quitting my job. Double the expenses and half the income. But the most important thing is this - it takes two to make a baby and I want both the people to want it just as badly. The husband is an ambitious man. He wants the best in the world for kuttan and me and I love him for it. How can I not? He has taken up the MBA course for this very reason and he will need the flexibilty to experiment and take a risk or two when he is done with it. How can I weigh him down with a baby at that crucial point in his life?
I am not saying that we will never ever have another baby. Life is funny that way. Just when you think you have it all figured out God smiles to himself and alters all your plans. But it is unlikely that it may happen anytime soon.
And still, whenever I see a tiny baby, whenever I hug kuttan and wistfully see the baby frame disappearing and a gangly boyish frame taking its place, when I go to a toy store and see the cutest possible cribs and smallest possible booties that I am sure no human feet can ever fit into, whenever I see the tiniest pattu pavadais and I bury may face into sweet smelling babies of other people, I have to admit, the heart does skip a beat and I desperately wish things could have been different.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Chennai means....
frolicking endlessly on hot summer days in the inflatable pool in thatha's backyard...
Playing silly games with cousins in the morning without even having to brush your teeth....
Playing gully cricket with a very patient, indulgent much-older cousin anna holding a bat that is bigger than me.
For amma, Chennai meant shopping. Her own personal shopper in the form of appa's cousin, a self-confessed shopaholic who is recognised by her face and is called personally by the proprietors themselves whenever fresh stocks are in.
Chennai means pattu mamis and jasmine flowers and Saravana Bhavan. It means jostling crowds at Ranganathan Street and brightly lit stores at Panagal Park. It means the beautiful, ancient temples of Mylapore and Triplicane. It means little girls running around in pattu pavadais. It means sun rising at the crack of dawns and mamis from every household drawing HUGE rangolis in front of their homes. It means warm, balmy evenings in Besant nagar beach while you sit looking at the endless sea munching on hot corn. It means posh hotels and Kaiyendhi bhavans. It means the ultra hip generation and the kacheri going ultra-traditional youngsters.
Chennai means loads and loads of family and extended family milling around the house all day.
And finally as we pulled into the parking lot of our Bangalore apartment, it meant throwing a king-sized tantrum with a full war-cry of 'Chennai polam!'. 'I want go Chennai.'
So do I, baby. So do I.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Off to Chennai
Off to Chennai tomorrow afternoon for 4 days to visit the in-laws. Will be back on Tuesday night. I am looking forward to no cooking, lots of relatives, loads of kids and mountains of shopping. In small doses, they are all welcome...
By the way, did you know that Chennai is my favorite shopping destination?
By the way, did you know that Chennai is my favorite shopping destination?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Battle of wills!
I made the mistake of going to kuttan's school cum daycare on Friday to pick him up. As kuttan saw me he came rushing towards me with great anticipation. I had had a long day and a longer week and was quite looking forward to lazing around on the weekend.
Just as kuttan and I started to leave, his teacher stopped me. Does he know how to write BM, she asked me. Gulp! The moment I was dreading and anticipating had arrived. No, I told her timidly. 'Well, I just thought I would get him started slowly, if that's ok with you', she told me. Well, how could I say it was not?
So gathering the last vestiges of my energy, I came out with great gusto, 'Of course! I was planning to do it myself but just thought it'll be better if you go first!'. 'He has already started writing number 1. We wrote a page of it today', she told me.
And then proceeded to show me the square math note book and the four-line english note-book where I was supposed to start with 'simple things' like numeric one and standing lines and sleeping lines. 'Are you going to give him homework', asked I, visions of my Sister-In-law chasing hubby's nephew with a notebook and a pencil and being repeatedly called by the school because the child simply refused to write flashing before my eyes.
Well, let's start off slow, she said. I cheered mentally. Just have him complete 1 page of homework over the weekend, if you can. ONE PAGE!! 'Well, its completely voluntary and you need to do it only if you are interested', she offered helpfully. And then pointed out the heaps of notebooks submitted by all the other parents. Voluntary, my foot!
So we went home and I gave kuttan this HUGE build up about how much fun it is going to be and so on and so forth. The notebooks and the pencil and the rubber and the sharpener were purchased in short order and looked upon with great anticipation by His Highness. After placing them in front of ummachi(God), and looking into His eyes and saying, 'Ummachi, let me study well, ok?', we were ready to go.
We sat down on the floor and carefully grasped the pencil. I gently held his hand and made him write inside the square. 'There you go. Great job!', I told him. 'Now just repeat this for a page and we're done'. This is not as bad as I expected, I told myself. Maybe it's only the SIL kid who is averse to writing. And it did seem that way when kuttan filled an entire page neatly with 1s.
Come Monday. We learnt standing lines today amma, he told me cheerfully in the car. Great. Let's practice, I told him. We went home and the snacks and other essentials were dealt with. 'Shall we start?', I asked him. 'No amma, I want to drive the car', he said. 'Do your homework and then go out to play.'
Time stopped still. I had just crossed another milestone as a parent and had joined millions of hapless mothers as they said the exact same words to their kids across the country, probably across the world just by speaking that one sentence. Fat moms, thin moms, young moms, old moms all saying the same words in many different tongues. There were probably thousands of them saying it that very minute. How many irritating times had I heard my own mother say them? Sometimes threatening, sometimes cajoling, always persuading, bargaining. Life has indeed come a full circle.
Kuttan gave me a scorching glare but settled down to write nevertheless. Today our mission was to write a page full of standing lines. He wrote approximately three-fourth. Of the line, not the page. 'I'm bored, I have finished my homework. I am going to drive my car.' Quietly kept the pencil down and crossed his arms and glared at me. I glared back. Hubby intervened. 'Let him go, you dont want to put him off homework forever, do you? I'll get him to do it later.'
The page still remains blank and I am sure we will have another page to finish today. This battle of wills has just begun. I am looking forward to, oh not much, just about another eighteen odd years of it.
Just as kuttan and I started to leave, his teacher stopped me. Does he know how to write BM, she asked me. Gulp! The moment I was dreading and anticipating had arrived. No, I told her timidly. 'Well, I just thought I would get him started slowly, if that's ok with you', she told me. Well, how could I say it was not?
So gathering the last vestiges of my energy, I came out with great gusto, 'Of course! I was planning to do it myself but just thought it'll be better if you go first!'. 'He has already started writing number 1. We wrote a page of it today', she told me.
And then proceeded to show me the square math note book and the four-line english note-book where I was supposed to start with 'simple things' like numeric one and standing lines and sleeping lines. 'Are you going to give him homework', asked I, visions of my Sister-In-law chasing hubby's nephew with a notebook and a pencil and being repeatedly called by the school because the child simply refused to write flashing before my eyes.
Well, let's start off slow, she said. I cheered mentally. Just have him complete 1 page of homework over the weekend, if you can. ONE PAGE!! 'Well, its completely voluntary and you need to do it only if you are interested', she offered helpfully. And then pointed out the heaps of notebooks submitted by all the other parents. Voluntary, my foot!
So we went home and I gave kuttan this HUGE build up about how much fun it is going to be and so on and so forth. The notebooks and the pencil and the rubber and the sharpener were purchased in short order and looked upon with great anticipation by His Highness. After placing them in front of ummachi(God), and looking into His eyes and saying, 'Ummachi, let me study well, ok?', we were ready to go.
We sat down on the floor and carefully grasped the pencil. I gently held his hand and made him write inside the square. 'There you go. Great job!', I told him. 'Now just repeat this for a page and we're done'. This is not as bad as I expected, I told myself. Maybe it's only the SIL kid who is averse to writing. And it did seem that way when kuttan filled an entire page neatly with 1s.
Come Monday. We learnt standing lines today amma, he told me cheerfully in the car. Great. Let's practice, I told him. We went home and the snacks and other essentials were dealt with. 'Shall we start?', I asked him. 'No amma, I want to drive the car', he said. 'Do your homework and then go out to play.'
Time stopped still. I had just crossed another milestone as a parent and had joined millions of hapless mothers as they said the exact same words to their kids across the country, probably across the world just by speaking that one sentence. Fat moms, thin moms, young moms, old moms all saying the same words in many different tongues. There were probably thousands of them saying it that very minute. How many irritating times had I heard my own mother say them? Sometimes threatening, sometimes cajoling, always persuading, bargaining. Life has indeed come a full circle.
Kuttan gave me a scorching glare but settled down to write nevertheless. Today our mission was to write a page full of standing lines. He wrote approximately three-fourth. Of the line, not the page. 'I'm bored, I have finished my homework. I am going to drive my car.' Quietly kept the pencil down and crossed his arms and glared at me. I glared back. Hubby intervened. 'Let him go, you dont want to put him off homework forever, do you? I'll get him to do it later.'
The page still remains blank and I am sure we will have another page to finish today. This battle of wills has just begun. I am looking forward to, oh not much, just about another eighteen odd years of it.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Torn!
I am tired. The last 2 weeks have been crazy. In many, many ways and on many, many levels. Kuttan came back from Coimbatore after a two week vacation with his Sachumma and Gopa thatha. He has had his annual vacation while I am still waiting for mine. Before kuttan went away, I had resolved to finish a lot of things that are pending on the work front. With him safely away at grandma's place, I could afford to stay back as late as possible in the office.
But in the 2 weeks that he was actually in Cbe, I had absolutely NO work. I spent the whole day reading blogs and surfing the net and watching the clock to see when I could get out of the darned office. Only to go home and find hubby vacantly staring at the TV. I would plonk next to him and start doing the same thing myself.
Then, the day after kuttan arrived, all hell broke loose. Everything that could go wrong at work did and we were suddenly transformed from being compeletely jobless to being BURIED under mountains of work. Amma was here for 3 days before she left to go back to Cbe. I spent maybe an hour with her on all 3 days put together. And felt abjectly miserable when she left.
Weekend came and brought no respite with it as hubby had to go away to his MBA classes. And then, amidst all the chaos, yesterday, I decided to take the afternoon off from work and go to a dear friend's housewarming ceremony. I took kuttan along in the afternoon and came back home after the function. As kuttan and I snuggled, I felt so much at peace with the world in general.
All the frenzy and stress and drama seemed a long, long way off. Like they belonged to a different world. Then, after almost a year and a half, I wished I could stay at home and be there for my son always. Be there for him when he comes back from school and feed him lunch. Be there to snuggle him as he takes his afternoon nap instead of allowing him to go off for his nap in his daycare on a small little cot with 30 other children. I know that some of the kids talk sometimes and when they do, the teachers there warn them and tell them not to talk. But my kuttan is such a light sleeper that even such a small exchange is bound to wake him up and he comes home in the evening, looking tired and cranky.
I wish I did not have to go around asking 3 different people in his daycare about the food he ate through the day and whether he pooped or pissed. Should'nt I be the one who knows these things better than anyone else? I wish I could spend lazy mornings with him without worrying about work or having to check the email.
The problem is that as far as jobs go, mine is not bad at all. My boss is friendly and understanding and allows me to work from home in emergencies. The hours are decent and the pay is good. And God knows we need the money. I have worked very, very hard to get to this stage and it has not been easy.
But, as I said, I am tired. Tired of juggling many different roles. Tired of all the expectations from all quarters. Tired of the constant feeling of guilt weighing me down. Tired of my own ambitions even. And there are days when I just want to ask the whole world to go to hell and just play the one role that is closest to my heart - that of being my son's mother. One of these days, I just might do that. Till then, the great juggling act continues.
But in the 2 weeks that he was actually in Cbe, I had absolutely NO work. I spent the whole day reading blogs and surfing the net and watching the clock to see when I could get out of the darned office. Only to go home and find hubby vacantly staring at the TV. I would plonk next to him and start doing the same thing myself.
Then, the day after kuttan arrived, all hell broke loose. Everything that could go wrong at work did and we were suddenly transformed from being compeletely jobless to being BURIED under mountains of work. Amma was here for 3 days before she left to go back to Cbe. I spent maybe an hour with her on all 3 days put together. And felt abjectly miserable when she left.
Weekend came and brought no respite with it as hubby had to go away to his MBA classes. And then, amidst all the chaos, yesterday, I decided to take the afternoon off from work and go to a dear friend's housewarming ceremony. I took kuttan along in the afternoon and came back home after the function. As kuttan and I snuggled, I felt so much at peace with the world in general.
All the frenzy and stress and drama seemed a long, long way off. Like they belonged to a different world. Then, after almost a year and a half, I wished I could stay at home and be there for my son always. Be there for him when he comes back from school and feed him lunch. Be there to snuggle him as he takes his afternoon nap instead of allowing him to go off for his nap in his daycare on a small little cot with 30 other children. I know that some of the kids talk sometimes and when they do, the teachers there warn them and tell them not to talk. But my kuttan is such a light sleeper that even such a small exchange is bound to wake him up and he comes home in the evening, looking tired and cranky.
I wish I did not have to go around asking 3 different people in his daycare about the food he ate through the day and whether he pooped or pissed. Should'nt I be the one who knows these things better than anyone else? I wish I could spend lazy mornings with him without worrying about work or having to check the email.
The problem is that as far as jobs go, mine is not bad at all. My boss is friendly and understanding and allows me to work from home in emergencies. The hours are decent and the pay is good. And God knows we need the money. I have worked very, very hard to get to this stage and it has not been easy.
But, as I said, I am tired. Tired of juggling many different roles. Tired of all the expectations from all quarters. Tired of the constant feeling of guilt weighing me down. Tired of my own ambitions even. And there are days when I just want to ask the whole world to go to hell and just play the one role that is closest to my heart - that of being my son's mother. One of these days, I just might do that. Till then, the great juggling act continues.
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