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1000 days of motherhood, totally counted on fingers. From the day I got to know there is a tiny little being in me , till the day my son turned two. All penned, noted in baby books and personal diaries, relived in my mind, my thousand days of undeterred bliss. My smooth sailing life turned into a big question, rather confusion, or can even be termed as dilema at the sight of those two lines. Why am I not feeling fine? Why am i feeling so good, is everything ok? Why were the heartbeats only 140 per minute, Oh my God why were they 170 per minute? My tummy looks like a football, am I carrying a baby boy, or wait rather I look like a football, is it a little girl. My glow was gone, my hair so dull, my weight, I gained 25 kilos, the stretch marks. If the baby moved a bit too much, i got paranoid, is he ok. And if the baby was lazing around I got damn worried, baby is not moving much,is he ok.
My life became a conundrum , and when I thought this inner voice was not enough to drive me crazy came a hurricane of unwelcome suggestions, Don't have tea, baby will have dark skin, don't touch those noodles , you want baby's hair to be so. It was all about the baby now, remember my baby about whom I was already paranoid, now it killed me to think,will he ever be mine as much as it is now.
And suddenly the countdown was about to end,anxiety level was at its peak,any moment the one I had literally been nurturing with my flesh and blood was going to be in my arms, the world seemed insignificant now, all the questions which were cyclopean dwarfed themselves. The pain,uneasiness,convulsions all vanished . The world seemed whimsical with this bundle of joy, and as a universal law of nature like all mothers even I took a vow to provide everything in my power and beyond to my son a piece of my heart who had now entered the world to be on his own.
And then all the fallacious claims of I am a mother , a superhuman, all cogent went down the drain, once the effect of anesthesia wore off I felt an unendurable pain . For the world I was a mother, an epitome of strength and beauty. BEAUTY that was a different ball game altogether, at least for a few months, but coming back to Strength, mine lasted only till painkillers persevered in my system. And then again followed the profound expertise of every mortal around from feeders to diapers to bathing techniques, of course accompanied by meconium and its counterparts, with or without pee.
Don't get confused here, and not even for a second assume I don't love my child, I am a totally obsessed , madly in love mother who has had a panic attack umpteen number of times even at a little sneeze or changing colours of poop. But in my weak moments, specially those when i seized to exist as an individual apart from a mother for everyone, I felt like giving up and running away. I am definitely not being suggestive, but I am a human too, like all mothers who don't turn God post delivery.
Writing is where I found solace. Beginning with pieces of paper to pen down my anger. To writing essays about how my little Agastya made life more meaningful. From being a girl, to being a woman. He held my hand and made me walk this milestone. If not for his belief in his muma, I would have failed miserably. I know I am a paranoid mom and living even a minute away from him still makes me feel guilty. But I guess like many more things I'll learn this too. To let him be. And let me be. What future holds for us is a mystery, but we are so far so good.