Twisted

Dear Power-above-of-all-things-ankles,

2013 I will remember, for you and mostly only you. First one friend and then another,  at work, had major ankle issues and surgeries this year. While I was just about realizing how difficult these injuries are, you ensured I really did understand. In the same week a dear dear blog friend, Paa and I hurt our ankles. The degree of severity were different but suffered we all did.

It is true that we don’t realize the importance of any part of our body till we hurt it and hence can’t use it. While doctors advised me to stay off my feet and reduce my activity level to bare minimum, I hobbled behind kids and went about my day to day life. I still pay the price of that excess activity but it can’t be helped.

I have not cribbed much, I can not cursed a whole lot, but I really could have done without this latest curve ball that you threw our way. A happy, smiling, active kid, doing exactly what kids do – ran, stopped, turned and feel down in pain. A trip to the store where she was excited about the new bedding we were buying for her, ended in tears and an ER visit.

Do I thank you that it only turned out to be a twisted ankle and not a broken bone? Or do I tell you about a child’s inability to deal with extreme pain? Or do I talk about the child who is so brave that even though she dreads the icing sessions because they hurt so much she goes ahead with them because they will make it all better? Or do I talk about a super active kid who sits in one place smiles and asks for books as we go around doing things? Or do I tell you about the child who woke up crying in the middle of the night saying she was scared? Or do I tell you about how she wanted to go to school because her friends would be there and smiled through all the pain to get there, only to burst out in tears when she could not practice for her winter performance with her friends, which she has been looking forward to for a while now?

I know it is part of life and part of growing up but can we be done with all this now? We have had enough of you and I would not wish you on anyone but can you please move on? Or better still with the festival season and the new year around the corner, can you please go on a long, extended vacation? I promise we will not miss you.

Thank you much,
-An angry mom

Singing Saturday – Yeah Mera India

Because today nothing else will do. Bleeding blue.

Growing up

Dear Buzz,

Last night, you were too tired so you climbed on to my lap, lay down and looked at me with sleep filled, half closed eyes. And all of a sudden I was taken back to the time when you were a few months old. You used to look at me the exact same way, while I would try to get in as much milk in you as I could, so that you could sleep on a full stomach. Right that moment, I felt my heart pinch a little. When had my little baby grown in to a toddler? When did that sleep drenched, intense gaze go away from looking at me to looking elsewhere? When did I get so engrossed in sleep training you, that I forgot to hold you just before your sleep overtook you? And I started remembering little things that you used to do, but don’t anymore. 

Like the way you used to be so happy when we used to go for a drive at night. All the lights had you gurgling with excitement. You would not stop turning your head this way and that till exhausted sleep took over. Now night lights are a norm for you. You look but don’t find anything particularly exciting, unless it is a billboard with lights and works.

Like the way driving in the car was like a sleep inducer for you. You could sleep within 10 mins of the car being in motion and you would not even get up for a feed for hours at end. Now car rides are a time for screaming and babbling for you. You look around, point at something or the other, pull your shoes. But sleep is not part of the deal, even if it’s way past your bedtime.

Like the time when you used to lay down in one place, kicking your legs, spinning in circles, licking your toes, batting your hands. But I could walk out for five minutes and come back to find you in the same spot. Now I can’t get up to go somewhere and not have you run there before me. No place is safe. The bathroom, the stairs, the bed. You are all over. Never still.

Like when you used to pull on the lever of some of your toys my mistake and would be pleasantly surprised when the music started playing. Now you know which button to press to play the music. And the said music playing does not have much of an effect. It is mostly just a byproduct of the action you performed. Not of consequence.

Like when I used to make a cradle of my hands and you fit in perfectly, head to toe. Now I can’t even hold you in the cradle of my hand. You come almost up to my head level if I am sitting down on the floor. You want to be picked up and help so that you can look around, that is if you want to be held. Else you want to be running around on your own.

I am not saying that I am upset that you are growing up, but once in a while something gets to me and then I yearn for those small things of days past. I wish I could get some of those moments mixed with the current going ons. I know I am being an emotional fool, but Maa has that prerogative, sweetheart. Maa is and can be and is totally excused from being  a total fool about you. Maa is allowed to walk down memory lane and feel nostalgic at how quickly you are growing up and what all you are leaving behind. Just don’t grow so much, for anytime soon, that you are no more Maamaa’s little girl. Stay happy, stay healthy, stay you always.

Loads of Love,
-Maa

A pair of Jeans

Ah, once there was a plan..

Help promised by the entire clan.

On all sweets  a ban..

Not even a coke can.

 

Alas things fall apart..

Finding time is an art.

From the plan I depart..

Weight loss is now in the cart.

 

With things not going great..

Old clothes fit not, at this rate.

To have the sadness abate..

Pick the keys, walk out the gate.

 

To buy a pair of jeans standing in the store..

Ugh, the collection ugly to the core.

Skinny, tattered, distressed, all styles I abhor..

Who, tell me who, these styles wore.

 

Sigh, to have such ugly a goal..

Jeans I would not touch with a pole.

Even with a threat to be burnt over coal..

Would not put such a burden on my soul.

 

Tell me is it such difficult a task..

A good pair of Jeans too much to ask.

When they put on the designer mask..

And in the title so bask.

Need some colour

Attention: Rant alert

Level: Elevated

Importance: High

Colour : Pink

Everything started because I went all maternal last week. Well I was taking some clothes out for Buzz to wear as we were heading out and I went..hmm..’Buzz is outgrowing her current clothes. And we have a lot of party invitations all of Feb. And I haven’t bought any new clothes for her in a while. Bad mommy Comfy’.

This had me heading to the Mall to buy clothes for Buzz, in between all the work stuff deadline I was dealing with, on the weekend. And now I am see-sawing between anger and helplessness.

Why you ask? Well because one step into the children’s section..splash..cold bucket of water thrown over all my ideas on what I was going to buy. I guess it is my fault that I went to the mall with preconceived notion of what I wanted to buy.

What is that you ask? All I wanted was to buy a couple of dresses, in cotton, in some fun colours, which made me go all aww when I saw them on Buzz.

What I got you ask? A sea of dresses in shiny, scratchy material, with ruffles and laces and bows up to the throat, and all in PINK.

I mean come on. I know Buzz is a girl. I know, you don’t have to tell me, really I know. But Pink only. The only colour you sell baby girl clothes in? Really? OK I have made a valiant effort to keep her from that colour for most parts till now and this is retribution for the same. I get it. But can’t you give me something at least a little bit less fussy? I mean the poor little thing will drown in all the shebang you have attached to those dresses. Princess dresses D calls them and I agree. There is something in this country about treating a child as a prince or princess. And I rebel big time.

Let me clarify: Buzz is special to me. No other child is currently as special to me as Buzz is. As if that is not true for all moms out there. Sheesh I am not special that way. In the same way Buzz is not that special to anyone else but to me. And I am trying, real hard, that she goes up with her head firmly on her shoulders. That she does not grow up with ‘I am special, bow down to me world’ syndrome. And so I rebel against anything foo..foo..princessy..not only on an esthetic level but on a moral level as well.

But the world obsessed with Disney and out to make profit by selling the image is stepping up its game big time. If I can’t find anything else, I will have to buy the dresses they throw my way will I not? Well no. I am not.

What did I do you ask? I walked in the boys section. Bought a couple of trousers and a few T-shirts in green, white and blue. So what if half the people who will see Buzz will think she is a Boy. So what if we have been brain washed that if a baby is not wearing pink or a frock or has a hair-band or some fluffy hair-pin, then the baby is a boy. I am sticking to my guns, till Buzz is grown up enough to tell me she wants to wear the pink dress on that shelf. I will give in give up  then (may be not gracefully but will give in) but not a minute before that.

Anyways, moral of the story: Feeling maternal is a sure way to get ones blood pressure up.

PS: Why pink..why only pink when there are so many colour out there? Give me some orange, red, brown, yellow, green and some shaded in between please..Someone..anyone..??

Colour me white

The best place to start the story, I guess, would be when I was born. The apple of everyone’s eyes. Loved by all, I am told. Wanted to picked up by all. And thus I grew, happy and loved.

Things took a turn, around the time I started my third grade. I remember because we had moved to Jaipur that year. Come summer vacation we headed home, back to the place my grandparents stayed along with a whole bunch of relatives and family friends. Everyone seemed to gasp when they saw me. The first thing that came out of their mouth was, what happened to her? How did she get so dark?

Somewhere within the year that we moved to Jaipur, the colour of my skin had shifted from milky white with rose colour cheeks to shades darker. And no one who knew us before could get over the fact. Growing up, I heard these questions directed at me over and over again. With each vocalization of the question, my self-esteem moved down a notch. It got to a point that I started dreading our annual summer vacation, I started to hide when someone came home, I was tongue tied in front of people with fair skin, I cut out a whole spectrum of colours in my wardrobe because I thought they made me look darker,  I would secretly place my hand next to Mom’s to see how dark I was, I started doubting the love my parents and relative had for me.

Things changed again as I got into my late teens. The anger, the resentment that I was carrying within started coming out, every time these comments came my way. My response, I think, finally stopped close relatives, in my hearing at least.

I started building my self-confidence one step at a time. I started to forget about the colour of my skin. Love happened. The boost that love gives happened. But such things don’t get left behind, do they? I was a bride of one day. Someone stopped by to wish us happy. Took one look at me, turned and told my SIL..’She is not fair is she? Your brother could have done so much better’. As my SIL rallied for me and D got hopping mad, I felt incapable of uttering a word. The shock of facing an old enemy so unexpectedly is the only reason I can think of.

Life has moved on since. I have moved on since. Acceptance has come with maturity. I can now look at myself objectively when I look at the mirror and see beyond this one aspect. D of course has a lot to do with this. But this time as the old enemy rears its head, my heart shudders. Everywhere we go, we are greeted with comments and questions like ‘Neither D or you are fair, who has Buzz taken after?’..’Oh she has amazing complexion’..’Does someone in either of your families have this skin tone?’. I look around helplessly. I hurt a little bit more, I am scared a little bit more. Because this time it’s not about me, it’s about my little daughter. I can’t help but wonder, what if her skin changes colour just like mine did? What if she has to go through the same thing? I feel so helpless. I don’t want the smile on her face to diminish just because Indians are obsessed with fair skin..I don’t want her to be stuck in the superficial just as I was..I don’t want her to be hurt..period.

My heart feels heavy..I want to protect her..I want to hide her..I want her to look beyond this pettiness to look within..to appreciate the person inside..not the cover..no matter the colour..

In Tears

Dear Buzz,

You cried today and there was nothing I could do about it. And now that you are asleep I can’t stop my tears from falling.

The whirlwind events of today and you being stuck in the car seat or in our lap had you full of energy and you refused to take your afternoon nap. You played through the entire hour and more, no matter what I did. The result – you got overtired. And as I drove the car back home from lil-K’s Birthday you got fussy and started crying. I was stuck driving on the freeway with no place to stop while you cried 15 mins till we got home.

You apparently have forgotten all about it and sleep peacefully in your crib. But how do I forget? How do I forget?

-Maa

Time..lack of

So I took two days off from work. Well because I wanted to spend some extra time with Buzz.

What I actually spend time doing was finishing tasks in my ever growing ToDo list. With some unexpected but important things added, like cooking in bulk for a friend who is recovering from a C-section delivery with no help. Her 3 week old is not doing so well and her elder daughter caught a bug at school and is home sick. Poor thing was in such a sad state and providing food was my little contribution in helping her.

Now that my two days are up, I sit and take a log of all the time I spend with Buzz. Not too much. That is not to say that I did not spend any time with her. It’s just that I did not spend as much time as I wanted to. And a tiny part of me resents the fact that D is out of town, on a much deserved vacation that I insisted that he take. If he were in, he would have helped making a dent in the long list of chores to be completed and given me some extra time. But more than that, he is my shoulder to lean on, the voice of reason when I over think things, the one to knock some sense into me. He is my other half, not my better half, but my partner in life, the one who completes me.

So missing D, hording my time with Buzz, shaking my head at the long list of things to still finish.

On the plus side..it’s going to be a short work week and D comes back soon 🙂

Leaving you with a song which used to play in a loop in my music player back in the days when we were on different ends of the world.

So tell me your special song for your special someone.

Friend of mine..

Growing up there was always friends of the family that were over. I don’t ever remember a time when there was not someone over for lunch, dinner, tea, gupshup or we were not heading over to someone’s place. Then one day Maa announced that one of her friend was coming down to visit for a few days and would be staying at our place. This in my mind stands out as a memory from all the other coming, going which is blur mass, for I remember being a little surprised. Were all the other people who came over not Mom’s friends? After that I started analyzing everyone that came home..immediate and extended family, Paa’s work buddies and their family, neighbours, Paa’s friends either growing up or who he went to school with. So everyone was either Paa’s friend, worked with Paa or were people Maa and Paa had made friends with after they got married. No friends of Maa from before their wedding.

The day before Maa’s friend was about to come over, I hesitantly asked Maa why this was the case. She smiled and said growing up she moved a lot owing to my uncles job and would write to her friends for a while and then things would slack off. Then she got married. Moved to a different state, keeping in touch with family and taking care of her kids left her with little or no time to even keep up the once in a while letters with her friends. They went on to further dusty shelves of her memory. Maa also seemed to imply that it’s more difficult for women to maintain her friends than it is for guys. I did understand parts of the conversation but not completely.

Today I understand. After we were married, I moved here leaving behind my family, my job, my friends. I was embraced with open arms by D’s friends and they are really close to my heart now. They are as much my friends as they are D’s. But my friends..the ones who stood united with me during our combined ragging days, my support system away from home while we were in the hostel, the wall that stood together through the end of teenage angst and early twenties crushes, the shoulders that soaked the tears when things got tough, the ones I can claim as my own, not D’s, not share with my family, just mine..where are they? Technology has made it easy for me to keep in touch with them. There are emails, Orkut scraps, Facebook wall posts. I always know what is going on in their life. Some I have not met since the day I boarded the train home, with four years of stuff on the floor bellow my berth, four years of memories streaming down our faces as tears, and four years of family who knew me better than my parents waving at me as the train slowly moved away from the platform. And time has done it usual magic. The edges of the memories are starting to fade. The urge to share every happening , the need to write or chat or call every day in no more. Even when I go back to India my social obligations to my family and D’s family does not make the meeting possible. Also while I am on vacation, their life goes on and even when I do have free time, they can’t seem to get away from their family, their obligations. Contrast that to D’s set of friends. Before he lands he has written to his friends, they agree on a date, time, place to meet. Wives and kids are left to each other while the guys get together, talk, laugh, reminisce old times. Not fair I tell you.

So if you guys are wondering, why the ramble. Well today is my friend’s Birthday. A friend I was closest to. The one who I learnt the most from. The one who was so mature that the glimpse of child that you saw sometimes took us all by surprise. The one who was such an innocent in some ways that we all banded together to protect her from hurt. The one who was the feistiest of the lot if it came to defending her friends. Post marriage she lives in this place up in the mountains, at a dam construction site, that she has the patchiest cellphone reception and a non-existant internet connection. So keeping in touch with her became next to impossible. I was so down in the dumps about not being able to talk to her, wish her on her birthday for the past few days. When yesterday night I got a mail from her. MAIL FROM HER. Did the moon fall off the sky? Her mail was short and to the point. ‘Moved to Noida. Phone number 011–…Call me’.

Yay Yay Yay. I just spoke to her, talked for an hour at least. And now I am not feeling blue. Life is so good right now. 😀 😀

The not so nice..

You hear everyone talk about the upside..the joy..the love of having a baby..and they are all true. But unknown to people without kids and unspoken by the ones that do..there is phase which is not so nice..called postpartum depression..every woman I know and have spoken to who has had babies, has gone through some form of PD (or milder form called Baby Blues)..but no one (at least in the Indian women) is ready to openly talk about it or even completely acknowledge that they went through the blues. Is it because our society does not think mental trauma is a form of sickness that needs to be talked about and treated..is it because we think on acknowledging depression we leave ourselves open to being called Paagal..or is it the dread of being called a bad parent in general and a bad mother specifically if we come out in the open and say we have the baby blues. I don’t know..I truly don’t.

I had of course heard of PD (what with the huge Brooke Shield, Tom Cruise controversy) but like an idiot never thought I would have one. Well I was wrong..really wrong. I could not handle the hormones raging through my body after Buzz was born. I did not even have a clue on how to handle them. I don’t know what people are talking about when they talk about PMS or when they say hormonal during pregnancy. I, to the best of my knowledge, don’t go through PMS and was not hormonal at all during my pregnancy. So suddenly after the hormone levels progressively increasing in my body for 9 months, the baby was out, and I was left with these elevated levels.

Thinking back, I think I went crazy for a while. Would cry at any odd thing..the neighbors baby crying would have me in tears..violence of TV would have me crying buckets..D getting back home late from work would find me holding sleeping Buzz and shaking with tears. I think staying alone for most part of the day (my parents had left when Buzz was a month old and D was at work), not meeting anyone, not talking to anyone had something to do with it. I knew all I needed to do was pick up the phone and could talk to my SIL or any of my friends, but I just could not seem to muster the energy or the inclination to do that. And it is such a vicious cycle. One feeding on the other. Another thing that factored in was the overwhelming feeling of responsibility..being responsible for such a tiny human being..and especially one you are head over heels in love with. The weight was too much on my emotionally unstable shoulders.

D, poor guy, was at a loss..anything and everything he did was taken incorrectly by me..or rather the emotional me..the rational me knew it was my issue, he was doing nothing wrong..but did that stop me from being a total wack??..Oh no..

I finally went and spoke to Dr. T about it. She listened and then asked questions: – Do I love Buzzu..Yes, Yes. – Do I get enough sleep..Yes, not in one continuous stretch, but I do sleep a lot. – Do you get upset when you have to get up every two hours to feed her..No, don’t mind that at all. – Do you do a lot of other household work..Hmm, no, I just do what I can or feel like, D takes care of the rest. – Do you have suicidal thoughts..No, never.

The verdict: Mild form of Baby Blues, not even classified as PD. Give it time..a few months..and things will start to get better.

Well if this was mild, I truly don’t want to know what moderate or severe form of PD is like. And I am glad that I am back to being me..comfortable in my own skin..comfortably nam.

Leaving with one of my favorite song when I have the blues, Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd