Dear Reader,
Every word that I have written below is true and is from my heart. Some things that I have spoken about below, are things which I was always uncomfortable saying or discussing earlier; but I guess time is the biggest healer. I am able to speak out my mind now with much lesser hesitation today. Also though my baby has both an official as well as a nick name, and very nice ones too - Atharv and Riju - yet through out my story I have not used any of these names. The reason is that I feel what I have written below is not my story alone, but the voice of many moms who feel the same way. By adding my own baby's name to it, I do not want Atharv to be guilty of what he did unknowingly as a baby, when he grows up and reads this whole thing one day. What he does today, is what ALL babies on this earth do. But the difference lies in the fact, that though I know some of my friends feel what what I am going through today, I am not sure if ALL the mothers feel the same way?
------------------------------------------------
I had always wanted to have a child of my own, even if I did not always want to always marry. :) Well I was most certain about the second part, if not the first; until I met my own prince charming - Abhinav. We got married in 2004 and since 2007 have been struggling to have a kid of our own. After my ectopic in 2007, I was shattered when the infertility center tests declared that the only fallopian tube I was left with, was blocked and that it was impossible for me to conceive by natural means. But perhaps the infertility results were incorrect only this one time (or as they have always been, just one more time in the case of my near and dear ones) Or perhaps God must have tipped the astrologers; who much before our marriage had predicted to my in-laws that my second pregnancy would be a success. What ever be it, within a month or two of those tests, we came to know that we were soon to become parents.
On Nov 22nd 2008, after waiting exactly 41 weeks and 2 days, my doctor makes an incision at the same place from where my right fallopian tube was removed an year ago. Within the next 20 minutes - out comes our bundle of joy. I am on a high dosage of epidural and Abhinav is all spell bound and speechless at the same time. Spellbound at the happiness to hold the little one in his very own hands; and speechless since those two days of labor were the toughest part of the whole process for both of us.
I continued to remain under the influence of percocet and other strong medications for several days to come after that. My thinking ability had diminished considerably and I was deep into the illusion of having the most loving, caring and understating husband one could ever dream of; who each day proactively and most willingly prepared fresh meals for me, did the dishes, did the laundry, bought the grocery and even helped me take care of the baby with sweet gestures such as offering to burp him after those 2 hour long feeds. (Needless to mention, my illusion still continues till date)
Here was a dream-come-true husband and the cutest little baby on earth in my own arms... someone who I always wanted to hold, but there was still something which was missing and making me feel miserable. So where was this problem? Well the problem was with the breast feeding. Every time I spoke to a mother or read out a book or something on the internet, I was reassured that even thought pregnancy, labor and delivery were so very troublesome and painful, yet all this suffering would go away once you got to hold your baby. “One look at your baby and you forget all that you suffering you have gone through in the last 9 months.” So all this while I was well prepared reminding myself each and every second 'this too shall pass'. My pregnancy left me week and clumsy; that painstaking labor nearly took away my life and breath; but I tried to be patient thinking that there was a sweet end to it all. The real problem is that no one ever told me what was in store ahead of me. The labor pain lasted only two days, but nursing!!! Each time my baby would latch onto me, I would go through hell. Counting the number of lactation consultants and doctors whom I approached for help during the first 6 weeks after delivery, it totaled to almost least 8 different professionals and plenty of other seasoned moms, before I finally got rid of all the different kinds of pain I endured. Almost every mother whom I speak to now, has her own related painfully story of what she endured. I do wonder why God was so biased towards woman – to make her life starting form puberty to old age, so painful and full of misery.
My baby is now two months. As I awake today, my schedule, as any other day, looks like this. I wake up to see my baby sleeping peacefully on my right side and my husband 'peacefully snoring' on to my left. I thank God to have given me another day in this beautiful life and to be able to see the two most important men of my life both safe and happy. After those initial days of breast pain over now, finally my world is nothing short from being perfect. As I get up to head towards the bathroom, within fractions of a minute a quiet murmur turns into a wild roar! No time to even dry my hands! I run back to the bedroom, feed the baby, change his diaper, help him fall back asleep and when he is finally asleep... run again!! This time I run to brush, take a quick shower and greet Good Morning to all the Gods and Goddess sitting at the altar. Then I finally run to the kitchen to gulp down something down my throat into the ever starving stomach. Only as I sit down and bring the first spoon near my mouth does my baby awake and again starts the whole process of feeding, diaper change and helping the baby to go back to sleep; well the last bit only if he alone is in the mood of a nap. For else if not, I need to play with him. And I guess you do know what playing with a toddler looks like. He is too young to understand bricks or balls, yet alone hold them; and too old to find the heart beat music CD any further appealing. So basically playing means having a constant communication and not just playing any recorded sound, but having a constant eye contact accompanied with laughing, tickling, swaying, rocking and engaging the little one in new and creative ways. I am sitting all alone with my little one, wondering how on earth does India top the world at number two in population. Suddenly my baby starts crying again. Looks like he is sleepy and is no mood to play any longer. Okay well, we all know who’s boss in our home. So I help him sleep and then sneak away quietly.
Something else that I was never told about was my new diet. Thanks to the breastfeeding; because of this atrocious diet, that I have developed in the recent months, I am confused on who between me and my baby pooh-poohs more. Well as if all the trouble till now was not enough. As I head towards the bathroom one more time, the tiny being; realizing that him mommy decided to leave him for the next 10 minutes; who was peacefully sleeping (or whom I thought to be sleeping) has suddenly woken from him slumber. Within minutes a small wailing has manifested into another ever louder howl. I run back to my baby. Upon seeing his mother gasping for breath with half the pressure still inside within her... he gives the cutest smile you could ever imagine. And with that smile, the huge mountain of anger within me suddenly disappears into thin air.
But realization soon dawns upon me. Life is so miserable after Abhinav leaves for office and I am all alone with the baby. If at all there’s any relief, it’s in the fact that his dad would be soon back from office, it not more at least in the next 8-9 hours. To top it all, when the reward of every feeding is that 1/5 th of the milk is all over the place; including but not limited to his onesie, pajamas, mommy’s top and pajamas, in addition to either the sofa, bed or swing, depending upon how many hours have elapsed after he felt the need to spit up the nth time. So the only time that I get after either feeding him or feeding myself, goes into wiping up all the mess. Why did I get into all this trouble in the first case? What was wrong with me to have decided to have a baby! After spitting up that milk, the next moment my baby is all settled – and now with a full stomach and all the gas (along with that milk) outside already; he smiles once more; occasionally bursting into 2 seconds of laughter. I feel dreadful for being the worst ever mom to have had those horrible thoughts within me. In my mind I am already pleading guilty and as a dutiful mom quickly grab some more baby wipes to clear up all the mess. Its time to play with my little one again.
Life continues. Days roll into weeks. Weeks roll into months. 2 days from now, my baby will be 3 months. As I reflect on the past 3 months after his arrival, I ponder on my daily routine. On any given day, one or more of the following happens: I am either sleep deprived, or food deprived, or occasional my pain returns back; or its all of the above at the same time! If not feeding my own or my little one's tummy, you can see me hastily paying my medical bills or doing something which has already been left up to the 11th hour and can not be delayed any further. All my life’s dreams have now diminished to a mere desire to be able to sit down for just 15 minutes and collect myself and my own thoughts. I am angry with myself, even though I realize that I should instead be thankful for everything that has been bestowed upon me. I try to be logical and question my own thoughts. I reason with myself, and tell myself that my baby never asked me to give him birth. It was my own decision to bring him into this world. Who am I to blame now? My baby is wide awake and cooing and wailing at the same time. He eventually manages to grab my attention. I look at him and smile back. Once again my creativity creeps from within and we begin to play a new game. I am thinking, God was cunning enough to have made babies cute, or else who could have possibly been able to raise them.
After half an hour of fun time, my baby starts to cry again. Making him sit in all possible positions and with everything else in place and nothing working; looks like he is hungry again. After another painful feeding session, as I wipe the spit up milk one more time, I decide to google, determined to find a solution to the spitting problem this time. I learn that all babies spit; but then the question is how much? The only solution explained is to cut the amount of milk the baby gets in. But as a mother haven’t I always been worried whether mine was getting enough in the first place? And now they tell me cut off even that little intake he gets. More so, in world full of chubby babies around me, it only concerns me that mine’s the skinniest one of them all (yeah … being a first time mother, I am an expert to find things to worry about, even after repeated reassurances by the most qualified pediatrician that my baby is doing just FINE). After much thought, I decide to watch the clock at his next feed; after all it might also save me from those tears of pain I shed, each time he latches to me. By evening I worry more than ever of having kept him hungry enough and happily give way to let him eat as much as he likes, till he starts playing 'latch-on and latch off and cry-when-unlatched' thinking of it as a very appealing new game.
By the time Abhinav is back from office in the evening, I am all but a grunting mother, complaining about anything and everything that I can think of. How the little one didn’t let me take a 5 min nap or how I couldn't even eat a single meal in peace, or how terrible has been the feeding experience and how I had planned to complete at least two tasks and haven't got to either one; also including some perennial but nonsensical remarks of how bad a husband has he been of late; which of course has nothing to do with the rest of my complains; but without which my grunting would sound - you know - sort of incomplete. Abhinav gives an expression of empathy but uses his selective listening skills to skillfully ignore all what I have just blurted out. He holds the baby and I hide myself away. An hour or two passes by quickly and as I am running errands around the home, I catch my baby gazing in my direction and smiling at me at the same time. My heart melts. I feel nasty at my earlier thoughts. There is a gush of love and I desperately cuddle my little darling into my arms. With that begins the usual bedtime routine and after a solid two hours of tummy time, massage time, bath time, feed and change time; as I finally put him in his crib for sleep time, he starts wailing again. God! could life be any more miserable?
Today it’s bright and sunny in Seattle (yeah sunny and Seattle don’t go together, but it’s been an exception today). It’s the perfect time to sit down, enjoy the sun and express myself. As my busy fingers pour down (read: type out) my months of frustration, I glance over to my little one, and once more all my frustration is gone... Oh what’s this. Looks like he is hungry again. Off I go to take care of my little one, one more time. After all, isn't it my little bundle of joy that means everything to me in this world.
