For all generations to come
And for all generations behind
The difference between people
And mothers
Is this:
"The war could begin
At my doorstep
Anytime.
I must protect my child."
That's why if world peace must be realised
It will be by mothers,
One child at a time.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Magirents
We have more money. We have more resources. We may not have more imagination, but we certainly have more will to bring that imagination to life.
And without realising it, we are becoming 'magirents'. Magician Parents. Our child has to but express a wish, and the sheer, ironically childlike, thrill of making that wish come true, blinds us to the severely debilitating impact of such behaviour.
My son loves Thomas the Train so let me get him the entire 15 grand worth set, just like that. Not on his birthday mind, just like that. My daughter is obsessed with Miley Cyrus so let me actually plan a London holiday where she can see Hannah Montana in concert. My twins look so cute together so let me actually ship down custom made baby sized genuine Mickey and Donald costumes directly from Disney Merchandise.
No expense, no trouble, and absolutely no effort is too much or too wild for us Magirents. The thrill of the quest itself is our reward. The journey is the destination and the fact that our child smiles, gives us the well trained hug and thank you and promptly moves on to the next toy, seems no impediment or dampener to this wish fulfilling style of parenting.
The child is not ungrateful. The child is - whoa, and that is scary - simply attuned to thinking that this gargantuan, unrealistic, unbelievably expensive, fairy tale like way of life is normal.
Gulp. What have we done?
I know we can afford it, and I know the internet makes organising and sourcing just about anything a matter of but a few clicks, but what happened to some good old middle class values along the way? What happened to phrases like 'choose one', 'next time', 'on your birthday', 'if you learn to tie your laces' or the simplest, baldest, most honest 'mom can't afford that'.
What happened to atleast waiting to be asked?
Most of us magirents aren't even fulfilling wishes. We are pre empting even that. No wonder then that the reaction is luke warm. The child didn't even know that what was just sprung upon him was something he wanted in the first place. Or it was to be had.
Sometime ago my daughter discovered the purple dinosaur from the learning DVD series called Barney. She promptly fell in love. She wanted to watch Barney all the time. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, be with him.
She never asked me for Barney because it didn't strike the 2 year old that 'Barney could be had'. Barney was this awesome, adorable big purple guy on the TV screen. How was she to even know that Barney could be brought home?
I however embarked on this project. My husband was in England at that time and I urged him to search. He scoured all of Oxford Street and every toy store there. But Barney is being 'phased out' now and the stores simply didn't have the soft toy.
Simultaneously I messaged all my friends in all corners of the world to let me know if they can spot and ship a Barney to me from anywhere at all.
Needless to say I was doing all this because the internet had not yielded results. Every on line store said Barney was out of stock.
You know how this story ends. My daughter got her Barney. Not one in fact but two. Because my best friend who dotes on her managed to procure one through complex means as well.
My daughter smiled, played with the Barneys, and forgot about them.
We had spent over a month and a decent amount of money to get, what for her, was just another toy. Nowhere near the real Barney who could jump out of the toy and become a real big fuzzy friend who sang and danced. I believe that inability in her toy Barneys actually frustrated her for a bit.
When I was about to pick up a hugely expensive Thomas Train set for another dear friend's son, she dissuaded me. I actually protested, saying, hey I know how we don't want to spoil our kids, but this is his birthday. My friend was firm. No, she said. A 4 year old's birthday should still have some limitations.
I so totally agreed with her that I promptly abandoned that gift for a cheaper Thomas Train variant. Of course the 4 year old was equally thrilled with it. He didn't know about the other one!
Its good to indulge, even pamper the kids. I know sometimes its compensation for time less spent, hectic work lives and other preoccupations.
But this fairy tale recreation - whether it involves money or not - is simply giving the child wrong cues. The rest of the world for the rest of his or her life, will not live up to that way of being. It is really not just about the money. It is about the fallacy of 'custom making a world to suit the child's wishes, dreams, desires'. The real world is not custom made. So even if it doesn't cost you a penny, it is still a dangerous thing to do.
I had this realisation this evening, when my daughter was insisting on seeing a particular TV ad that she loves. Sometimes our DTH provider shows it in a loop on the home screen, before you chose your channel. So she's used to getting it on demand.
That deal with the DTH provider must have gotten over. The ad was not playing. My baby was slightly disconsolate. Slightly mind you, no big tantrum.
I found myself thinking, oh, I must get hold of the ad on a cd. Shouldn't be difficult. The company is a regular advertiser on the radio station that I work in, and the client's a good friend. Getting the ad wouldn't be difficult at all. Maybe I can ask them to put it in a loop of five or ten runs so I won't have to keep skipping back. Or maybe I could even ask for their earlier ads, my daughter's bound to enjoy the whole series...
I arrested my train of thoughts. What the heck was I doing? What the heck are all of us doing?
Magicians. Parents. Mutant beings designing a wholly unrealistic world view and delivering it on a shiny smooth show me my deepest desires reflecting platter.
This won't even prepare the child for the disappointment of missing the morning bus.
And without realising it, we are becoming 'magirents'. Magician Parents. Our child has to but express a wish, and the sheer, ironically childlike, thrill of making that wish come true, blinds us to the severely debilitating impact of such behaviour.
My son loves Thomas the Train so let me get him the entire 15 grand worth set, just like that. Not on his birthday mind, just like that. My daughter is obsessed with Miley Cyrus so let me actually plan a London holiday where she can see Hannah Montana in concert. My twins look so cute together so let me actually ship down custom made baby sized genuine Mickey and Donald costumes directly from Disney Merchandise.
No expense, no trouble, and absolutely no effort is too much or too wild for us Magirents. The thrill of the quest itself is our reward. The journey is the destination and the fact that our child smiles, gives us the well trained hug and thank you and promptly moves on to the next toy, seems no impediment or dampener to this wish fulfilling style of parenting.
The child is not ungrateful. The child is - whoa, and that is scary - simply attuned to thinking that this gargantuan, unrealistic, unbelievably expensive, fairy tale like way of life is normal.
Gulp. What have we done?
I know we can afford it, and I know the internet makes organising and sourcing just about anything a matter of but a few clicks, but what happened to some good old middle class values along the way? What happened to phrases like 'choose one', 'next time', 'on your birthday', 'if you learn to tie your laces' or the simplest, baldest, most honest 'mom can't afford that'.
What happened to atleast waiting to be asked?
Most of us magirents aren't even fulfilling wishes. We are pre empting even that. No wonder then that the reaction is luke warm. The child didn't even know that what was just sprung upon him was something he wanted in the first place. Or it was to be had.
Sometime ago my daughter discovered the purple dinosaur from the learning DVD series called Barney. She promptly fell in love. She wanted to watch Barney all the time. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, be with him.
She never asked me for Barney because it didn't strike the 2 year old that 'Barney could be had'. Barney was this awesome, adorable big purple guy on the TV screen. How was she to even know that Barney could be brought home?
I however embarked on this project. My husband was in England at that time and I urged him to search. He scoured all of Oxford Street and every toy store there. But Barney is being 'phased out' now and the stores simply didn't have the soft toy.
Simultaneously I messaged all my friends in all corners of the world to let me know if they can spot and ship a Barney to me from anywhere at all.
Needless to say I was doing all this because the internet had not yielded results. Every on line store said Barney was out of stock.
You know how this story ends. My daughter got her Barney. Not one in fact but two. Because my best friend who dotes on her managed to procure one through complex means as well.
My daughter smiled, played with the Barneys, and forgot about them.
We had spent over a month and a decent amount of money to get, what for her, was just another toy. Nowhere near the real Barney who could jump out of the toy and become a real big fuzzy friend who sang and danced. I believe that inability in her toy Barneys actually frustrated her for a bit.
When I was about to pick up a hugely expensive Thomas Train set for another dear friend's son, she dissuaded me. I actually protested, saying, hey I know how we don't want to spoil our kids, but this is his birthday. My friend was firm. No, she said. A 4 year old's birthday should still have some limitations.
I so totally agreed with her that I promptly abandoned that gift for a cheaper Thomas Train variant. Of course the 4 year old was equally thrilled with it. He didn't know about the other one!
Its good to indulge, even pamper the kids. I know sometimes its compensation for time less spent, hectic work lives and other preoccupations.
But this fairy tale recreation - whether it involves money or not - is simply giving the child wrong cues. The rest of the world for the rest of his or her life, will not live up to that way of being. It is really not just about the money. It is about the fallacy of 'custom making a world to suit the child's wishes, dreams, desires'. The real world is not custom made. So even if it doesn't cost you a penny, it is still a dangerous thing to do.
I had this realisation this evening, when my daughter was insisting on seeing a particular TV ad that she loves. Sometimes our DTH provider shows it in a loop on the home screen, before you chose your channel. So she's used to getting it on demand.
That deal with the DTH provider must have gotten over. The ad was not playing. My baby was slightly disconsolate. Slightly mind you, no big tantrum.
I found myself thinking, oh, I must get hold of the ad on a cd. Shouldn't be difficult. The company is a regular advertiser on the radio station that I work in, and the client's a good friend. Getting the ad wouldn't be difficult at all. Maybe I can ask them to put it in a loop of five or ten runs so I won't have to keep skipping back. Or maybe I could even ask for their earlier ads, my daughter's bound to enjoy the whole series...
I arrested my train of thoughts. What the heck was I doing? What the heck are all of us doing?
Magicians. Parents. Mutant beings designing a wholly unrealistic world view and delivering it on a shiny smooth show me my deepest desires reflecting platter.
This won't even prepare the child for the disappointment of missing the morning bus.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Guilty Until Socialised Innocent
Some days ago I read a heartening albeit surprising article about parents today.
Apparantly parents, especially mothers, of our generation are racked by far more guilt than our predecessors - that wasn't the surprising bit - but they also spend far far more focused and quality time with their children than those of the earlier generations!
Now this latter bit of information was startling. As a new mom I too am constantly plagued by a sense of insufficient time and inadequate attention. I too feel that I am depriving my child of something fundamental in parenting whenever I am at work, at the gym, working on my laptop, surfing channels, meeting friends.
I was happy to realise that actually the time that we do manage to make for our children is not only quantitatively more than what many in our parent's generation did, but qualitatively better too. More focused, richer in content and deeper in bonding.
Happy research results which I read, filed in memory and forgot.
This evening my husband and I came back early from work, met our daughter at my mother's place, which is barely a few doors away, and then while she was having her supper I realised I had some work to catch up on, so I walked home leaving my husband to bring our baby back.
They followed soon, by which time I was deep in the middle of multi tasking - watching a TV show I had recorded and clearing some mail on my laptop.
My daughter plonked herself on my bed, played with my books and wires, hugged and kissed me, romped around, eventually got bored and went off to play with her nanny cheerily. I continued working.
My 2 year old has taken to trying on every adult piece of footwear lying around the house so I can hear her coming from the other end of the house, clip clopping in my slippers or my husband's shoes.
Everytime she walked into the room I lowered the laptop screen, gave her a big smile and hug and felt that stab of guilt. Why was I working when I had come home early and why was I not giving her my entire attention?
And suddenly there flashed before my eyes images of my home maker mother during my growing years. Ma cooking. Ma serving. Ma tending to dad's needs, his parent's needs, our needs. Ma directing the help. Ma buying grocery.
Ma was always busy. And never guilty about neglecting us. If anything at all, she found raising us to be a full time job, a pleasurable one for sure, but one that only added to that laundry list of other duties that kept her busy. There was no sense that the cooking or the cleaning or the serving was in any way taking time away from her 'parenting' duties.
And then it dawned on me that this guilt that I feel every single moment is a product of socialisation and gender stereotyping at its most fundamental level.
A mother who is too busy to play with her baby because she's cooking, cleaning, running house has no guilt. A mother who is ocassionally busy working on a laptop, working out at the gym, meeting a friend for drinks, is committing a double crime. She is not only depriving her child of her mental and / or physical time, she is also crossing the gender lines and being 'busy' with what 'dads' ought to be busy with.
I know at a conscious level we have all left behind these stereotypes sometime back. None of us are ostensibly thinking like this.
But deep down, the socialisation runs in permanently etched furrows upon the mind. My husband feels no similar guilt when he works at home. And I know, even though I hate cooking and almost never cook, if I were to occupy myself in the kitchen with my toddler romping around, tugging at my shirt ends, I would feel no guilt either.
Because that image would overlap beautifully, seamlessly and therefore sinisterly, over the image of me and my mother when I was a child.
That is the real danger of socialisation. It is comfortable. It is familiar. And it operates at levels that we are not even aware of.
Apparantly parents, especially mothers, of our generation are racked by far more guilt than our predecessors - that wasn't the surprising bit - but they also spend far far more focused and quality time with their children than those of the earlier generations!
Now this latter bit of information was startling. As a new mom I too am constantly plagued by a sense of insufficient time and inadequate attention. I too feel that I am depriving my child of something fundamental in parenting whenever I am at work, at the gym, working on my laptop, surfing channels, meeting friends.
I was happy to realise that actually the time that we do manage to make for our children is not only quantitatively more than what many in our parent's generation did, but qualitatively better too. More focused, richer in content and deeper in bonding.
Happy research results which I read, filed in memory and forgot.
This evening my husband and I came back early from work, met our daughter at my mother's place, which is barely a few doors away, and then while she was having her supper I realised I had some work to catch up on, so I walked home leaving my husband to bring our baby back.
They followed soon, by which time I was deep in the middle of multi tasking - watching a TV show I had recorded and clearing some mail on my laptop.
My daughter plonked herself on my bed, played with my books and wires, hugged and kissed me, romped around, eventually got bored and went off to play with her nanny cheerily. I continued working.
My 2 year old has taken to trying on every adult piece of footwear lying around the house so I can hear her coming from the other end of the house, clip clopping in my slippers or my husband's shoes.
Everytime she walked into the room I lowered the laptop screen, gave her a big smile and hug and felt that stab of guilt. Why was I working when I had come home early and why was I not giving her my entire attention?
And suddenly there flashed before my eyes images of my home maker mother during my growing years. Ma cooking. Ma serving. Ma tending to dad's needs, his parent's needs, our needs. Ma directing the help. Ma buying grocery.
Ma was always busy. And never guilty about neglecting us. If anything at all, she found raising us to be a full time job, a pleasurable one for sure, but one that only added to that laundry list of other duties that kept her busy. There was no sense that the cooking or the cleaning or the serving was in any way taking time away from her 'parenting' duties.
And then it dawned on me that this guilt that I feel every single moment is a product of socialisation and gender stereotyping at its most fundamental level.
A mother who is too busy to play with her baby because she's cooking, cleaning, running house has no guilt. A mother who is ocassionally busy working on a laptop, working out at the gym, meeting a friend for drinks, is committing a double crime. She is not only depriving her child of her mental and / or physical time, she is also crossing the gender lines and being 'busy' with what 'dads' ought to be busy with.
I know at a conscious level we have all left behind these stereotypes sometime back. None of us are ostensibly thinking like this.
But deep down, the socialisation runs in permanently etched furrows upon the mind. My husband feels no similar guilt when he works at home. And I know, even though I hate cooking and almost never cook, if I were to occupy myself in the kitchen with my toddler romping around, tugging at my shirt ends, I would feel no guilt either.
Because that image would overlap beautifully, seamlessly and therefore sinisterly, over the image of me and my mother when I was a child.
That is the real danger of socialisation. It is comfortable. It is familiar. And it operates at levels that we are not even aware of.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Missing Daddy....
Babaa.... Aa jao. Babaaaaaaaaaaaa.......... Aajao....
Don't know when I last heard a sadder song. Daddy, come home.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
First Blood
Always hurts.
There's no getting around it.
From the first menstruation
To the first penetration.
First blood
Always hurts.
Yesterday my toddler
Slams her face into my knee
And splits open her lip
Red preciousness spills.
First blood kills.
There's no getting around it.
From the first menstruation
To the first penetration.
First blood
Always hurts.
Yesterday my toddler
Slams her face into my knee
And splits open her lip
Red preciousness spills.
First blood kills.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Look Who's Talking!
There are several milestones in a baby's life, from infancy to toddlerhood and beyond.
The looking, the smiling, the crawling, the gurgling, the standing, the walking and so many more that one delights in. And remembers.
But for me the greatest transition for a child will always be that from pre verbal to verbal. In many ways its the single most 'humanising' development of a child. That moment in evolution when the homo sapien was born. And as has been said often enough, in the growth of a baby one can see the entire process of evolution, if one observes keenly enough.
When we had seen the first ultrasound of this beautiful being, my husband had christened her 'tadpole'!! So well, I guess it can be said officially, 8 and 21 months after that day, our tadpole is socio culturally 'human'.
Look who's talking!!
The looking, the smiling, the crawling, the gurgling, the standing, the walking and so many more that one delights in. And remembers.
But for me the greatest transition for a child will always be that from pre verbal to verbal. In many ways its the single most 'humanising' development of a child. That moment in evolution when the homo sapien was born. And as has been said often enough, in the growth of a baby one can see the entire process of evolution, if one observes keenly enough.
When we had seen the first ultrasound of this beautiful being, my husband had christened her 'tadpole'!! So well, I guess it can be said officially, 8 and 21 months after that day, our tadpole is socio culturally 'human'.
Look who's talking!!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Still Furious, Still Sad, Still Upset, Still Mad....
After nearly 12 hours....
My baby hates parties. My baby hates crowds. As her stories and pictures amply demonstrate, she's a drop of pure sunshine in her own comfortable, familiar environs...
She plays, she gurgles, she laughs, she playacts, she's a regular dollop of delight...
But take her to extra loud, extra bright, extra crowded settings, especially in unfamiliar territory, and she dissolves into a mass of fear. And wails. Very very loudly. She's miserable and nothing soothes her until you get her out of that scary place...
I know that. And it doesn't surprise me, considering both her parents are pretty private, pretty reclusive people. So are her grandparents, largely. How is this girl, born into two highly introverted families, suddenly supposed to become a people seeker?
However, all situations can't be avoided. One doesn't want to appear rude. One doesn't want to seem unnecessarily unsociable.
So after turning down a rash of invitations one finally accepts one.
Last night was one such. A family do. My mom would be there. And other assorted relative-in-laws, from my brother's side.
Shaayari had been in top form all day. And I prepped her in advance saying we were going to place with lots of people, some babies, a dog, and granny. And she was not to be afraid, and she was to give all 'flying kishies' and say hi.
By the time we reached, it was nearly her bed time. Sleep grubby and confused, the house and lawn spilling with unfamiliar adults petrified my little one. She shrieked and howled. And awww... heartbreakingly - she remembered mommy's instructions, so in the midst of her wailing she kept blowing kisses at the highly amused and confused guests....
It didn't work. We had to rush her to a back room, switch on her favourite music channel on tv and rock her until she calmed. Which she did, the moment the crowd was out of sight...
But boy. Then the judgement started. How maladjusted. How socially inept. How badly brought up. How inccorrectly trained (hello, she's a child, not a dog) how singularly imperfect (hello, still a child, not a project!!).... How so-and-so's granddaughter loves all and sundry. And so-and-so's grandchild never cries. How that little one never watches any tv and this little one will say hello to all....
Yep, all old ladies. All competing with my mom and my mom getting embarassed on my daughter's behalf and offering explanations...
Which made me even more furious. Hey what happened to the family loving her for who she is and accepting her unconditionally? She's not an airconditioner who's tripped during the warranty period. She's my perfectly imperfect child of a myriad moods and many moments, high and low. She's my life experience and my greatest bag of surprises.
Why are we apologising on her behalf? Did she misbehave? No. Was she rude? No. Did she throw a tantrum and throw things? No.
Was she scared? Yes. Was she overwhelmed? Yes.
Hey. She's twenty months old.
Can she compete a little later please? Its bedtime. She's tired. I'd rather just sing her a lullaby.
My baby hates parties. My baby hates crowds. As her stories and pictures amply demonstrate, she's a drop of pure sunshine in her own comfortable, familiar environs...
She plays, she gurgles, she laughs, she playacts, she's a regular dollop of delight...
But take her to extra loud, extra bright, extra crowded settings, especially in unfamiliar territory, and she dissolves into a mass of fear. And wails. Very very loudly. She's miserable and nothing soothes her until you get her out of that scary place...
I know that. And it doesn't surprise me, considering both her parents are pretty private, pretty reclusive people. So are her grandparents, largely. How is this girl, born into two highly introverted families, suddenly supposed to become a people seeker?
However, all situations can't be avoided. One doesn't want to appear rude. One doesn't want to seem unnecessarily unsociable.
So after turning down a rash of invitations one finally accepts one.
Last night was one such. A family do. My mom would be there. And other assorted relative-in-laws, from my brother's side.
Shaayari had been in top form all day. And I prepped her in advance saying we were going to place with lots of people, some babies, a dog, and granny. And she was not to be afraid, and she was to give all 'flying kishies' and say hi.
By the time we reached, it was nearly her bed time. Sleep grubby and confused, the house and lawn spilling with unfamiliar adults petrified my little one. She shrieked and howled. And awww... heartbreakingly - she remembered mommy's instructions, so in the midst of her wailing she kept blowing kisses at the highly amused and confused guests....
It didn't work. We had to rush her to a back room, switch on her favourite music channel on tv and rock her until she calmed. Which she did, the moment the crowd was out of sight...
But boy. Then the judgement started. How maladjusted. How socially inept. How badly brought up. How inccorrectly trained (hello, she's a child, not a dog) how singularly imperfect (hello, still a child, not a project!!).... How so-and-so's granddaughter loves all and sundry. And so-and-so's grandchild never cries. How that little one never watches any tv and this little one will say hello to all....
Yep, all old ladies. All competing with my mom and my mom getting embarassed on my daughter's behalf and offering explanations...
Which made me even more furious. Hey what happened to the family loving her for who she is and accepting her unconditionally? She's not an airconditioner who's tripped during the warranty period. She's my perfectly imperfect child of a myriad moods and many moments, high and low. She's my life experience and my greatest bag of surprises.
Why are we apologising on her behalf? Did she misbehave? No. Was she rude? No. Did she throw a tantrum and throw things? No.
Was she scared? Yes. Was she overwhelmed? Yes.
Hey. She's twenty months old.
Can she compete a little later please? Its bedtime. She's tired. I'd rather just sing her a lullaby.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Coming Home to Things
You come home from work and an exhausting gym session and find your baby alone in the house with the nanny and the cook (so far you're ok, you knew that)... with the front door wide open.
Yawning into a cruel stairwell, not to mention the unnamable horrors of life in Delhi.
Everyone is safe. Everyone is happy. Your baby jumps into your arms and as you inhale baby smell and feel podgy arms around your neck, you can't decide whether to wring the nanny and the cook's neck, or cuddle baby forever, or quit working.
Or simply thank a god you suddenly start believing in at such moments, for keeping baby safe.
This 'coming home to things' is the lot of working moms. The joys of it, the fears of it, the horrors of it, the delights of it, the wonders of it, the panic of it, the surprises of it, the shocks of it...
The utter unpredictable pallette of it.
The Coming Home to Things. And the realisation that for a mom, this is just the beginning.
Yawning into a cruel stairwell, not to mention the unnamable horrors of life in Delhi.
Everyone is safe. Everyone is happy. Your baby jumps into your arms and as you inhale baby smell and feel podgy arms around your neck, you can't decide whether to wring the nanny and the cook's neck, or cuddle baby forever, or quit working.
Or simply thank a god you suddenly start believing in at such moments, for keeping baby safe.
This 'coming home to things' is the lot of working moms. The joys of it, the fears of it, the horrors of it, the delights of it, the wonders of it, the panic of it, the surprises of it, the shocks of it...
The utter unpredictable pallette of it.
The Coming Home to Things. And the realisation that for a mom, this is just the beginning.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Some Tips for Sanity
Hey, as I was headed to the gym after work yesterday, going through the same push and pull dilemma that I brave every single evening, wondering whether it was fair to be so selfish when I could so easily see my daughter a good hour and a half in advance if I went straight to her instead of to the gym, I realised yet again how this very selfishness has kept me sane so far.
I don't know what sort of mom you are. Are you the mother earth type of mom? Did motherhood come to you naturally, easily? Did you wait with joy and anticipation for this stage of your life? Were you the sorts who'd pull the cheeks of random kids at malls, know the neighbour's kids by name, be the natural baby sitter choice for siblings and cousin's children, run to the reception when a colleague got a kid over, and then ooh and aah over their little bundles....
Well then maybe this post isn't for you.
I, for one, was none of the above.
Children never interested me. I never oohed and aahed over the boss's kids (though I suspect some people do that not for the kid but for the boss), I never went charging at kids at parties and I haven't ever cleaned the poop of my one and only brother's one and only son, though we used to live in the same house. I was the absentee fun aunt. Not the caring mom-surrogate.
Hence, parenting was one jumanji adventure for me. A game I am just about beginning to understand the rules of. A game I am barely learning to play.
While I completely dote on my daughter, I sometimes think I behave like the same 'fun' aunt with her, as I did with my nephew. I take my role as a care giver to be a duty. I take my role as a playmate much more seriously!!
If you feel you belong to the same category of Her Mommyness, here are some tips:
1. Have one purely selfish pursuit in your day, everyday, after the first 40 days post delivery get over. [you won't have time to be selfish before 40 days]. This pursuit should seriously be only about you. And take up a good hour or so of your day. [you may not be able to afford anything longer for a while]
2. Take care of your body. Get back into your pre pregnancy shape - whatever that shape was.
3. Avoid ANYBODY who calls you 'over the hill', 'fuddy duddy', 'loser' or 'ancient'. Even if that includes your husband.
4. Get yourself a good padeatrician. Trust me, you will bless yourself for this. Its as much for you as it is for the baby.
5. Buy make up. And use it.
6. Don't allow other new mommies to compete. If they get competitive, opt out. Children are way too precious for this ugly game.
7. Don't measure your love against milestones [refer to previous post]
8. If you used to drink before you got pregnant, start having the ocassional drink. [time it so it won't get into the next breastfeed!]
9. Insist that some nights are managed by somebody else - your spouse, the nanny, a friend, your parent anyone you can trust. I made the mistake of not doing this. Please don't. Every few weeks, insist on a full night entirely by yourself.
10. Eat chocolate.
11. Get facials.
12. If you are a reader, always somehow make the time for a good book. No matter what.
13. If you used to watch movies, find the first possible opportunity to start watching movies again. Once a week, at least.
14. This may seem early to you, but seriously, the sooner you do it the better - let your child know you are vulnerable. You too feel sad. And droopy. And exhausted. You are NOT super woman. How you communicate this will be uniquely individual to you, but somehow, get this across.
15. Don't feel compelled to attend any social do, event, ocassion, party for the wrong reasons i.e. obligation, duty or expectation. Go only if you feel like. Or junk it.
16. Tell yourself you will ONLY wear comfortable clothes, NO MATTER WHAT. Style, fashion, ocassion be damned. Comfort clothing and footwear is the one thing you owe yourself, for at least an entire year. Even if its a wedding you are going for.
17. Don't accomodate every visitor who wants to come and see the baby. Say no. Politely, but firmly, as many times as you wish to. You are allowed.
18. Put your head in your baby's lap, and take the baby's hand to stroke your face, during moments of pure exhaustion. Trust me, even though you know its make believe, that comforting will do you a world of good.
19. Make noise when the baby is asleep. Watch TV, listen to the radio, chat. Let the baby get used to sleeping in some noise, else you'll forever be walking on your tiptoes and speaking in whispers.
20. Don't keep getting into a flap whenever its time to breast feed, looking for a dupatta to cover yourself, or hunting for an empty room while the baby wails in your arm. Throw people out. You have first right. If you were in the sitting room with three other people, let the other 3 leave and shut the door behind them. You stay where you are and start feeding. Its others who need to be considerate during this time, not you.
21. Stay away from all older mothers who viciously try and tell you its only going to get worse. Trust me, its not. It gets better every single day. Those who say it gets worse are just being malicious. Or else they were such lousy moms that maybe it got worse for them, who knows. You don't need to.
22. Get back to work as soon as you feel ready. Not a day earlier, not a day later. Don't go earlier out of a sense of obligation to the job - most companies are very sensitive to maternity issues these days. And don't go later out of a sense of obligation to the baby (even though you've organised the best, safest and most reliable day care possible) because the sooner the baby gets used to the fact that 'mommy leaves and then comes back' the sooner you'll be able to get your career back on track. And for us "Mom's at Work" that's important, right?
I don't know what sort of mom you are. Are you the mother earth type of mom? Did motherhood come to you naturally, easily? Did you wait with joy and anticipation for this stage of your life? Were you the sorts who'd pull the cheeks of random kids at malls, know the neighbour's kids by name, be the natural baby sitter choice for siblings and cousin's children, run to the reception when a colleague got a kid over, and then ooh and aah over their little bundles....
Well then maybe this post isn't for you.
I, for one, was none of the above.
Children never interested me. I never oohed and aahed over the boss's kids (though I suspect some people do that not for the kid but for the boss), I never went charging at kids at parties and I haven't ever cleaned the poop of my one and only brother's one and only son, though we used to live in the same house. I was the absentee fun aunt. Not the caring mom-surrogate.
Hence, parenting was one jumanji adventure for me. A game I am just about beginning to understand the rules of. A game I am barely learning to play.
While I completely dote on my daughter, I sometimes think I behave like the same 'fun' aunt with her, as I did with my nephew. I take my role as a care giver to be a duty. I take my role as a playmate much more seriously!!
If you feel you belong to the same category of Her Mommyness, here are some tips:
1. Have one purely selfish pursuit in your day, everyday, after the first 40 days post delivery get over. [you won't have time to be selfish before 40 days]. This pursuit should seriously be only about you. And take up a good hour or so of your day. [you may not be able to afford anything longer for a while]
2. Take care of your body. Get back into your pre pregnancy shape - whatever that shape was.
3. Avoid ANYBODY who calls you 'over the hill', 'fuddy duddy', 'loser' or 'ancient'. Even if that includes your husband.
4. Get yourself a good padeatrician. Trust me, you will bless yourself for this. Its as much for you as it is for the baby.
5. Buy make up. And use it.
6. Don't allow other new mommies to compete. If they get competitive, opt out. Children are way too precious for this ugly game.
7. Don't measure your love against milestones [refer to previous post]
8. If you used to drink before you got pregnant, start having the ocassional drink. [time it so it won't get into the next breastfeed!]
9. Insist that some nights are managed by somebody else - your spouse, the nanny, a friend, your parent anyone you can trust. I made the mistake of not doing this. Please don't. Every few weeks, insist on a full night entirely by yourself.
10. Eat chocolate.
11. Get facials.
12. If you are a reader, always somehow make the time for a good book. No matter what.
13. If you used to watch movies, find the first possible opportunity to start watching movies again. Once a week, at least.
14. This may seem early to you, but seriously, the sooner you do it the better - let your child know you are vulnerable. You too feel sad. And droopy. And exhausted. You are NOT super woman. How you communicate this will be uniquely individual to you, but somehow, get this across.
15. Don't feel compelled to attend any social do, event, ocassion, party for the wrong reasons i.e. obligation, duty or expectation. Go only if you feel like. Or junk it.
16. Tell yourself you will ONLY wear comfortable clothes, NO MATTER WHAT. Style, fashion, ocassion be damned. Comfort clothing and footwear is the one thing you owe yourself, for at least an entire year. Even if its a wedding you are going for.
17. Don't accomodate every visitor who wants to come and see the baby. Say no. Politely, but firmly, as many times as you wish to. You are allowed.
18. Put your head in your baby's lap, and take the baby's hand to stroke your face, during moments of pure exhaustion. Trust me, even though you know its make believe, that comforting will do you a world of good.
19. Make noise when the baby is asleep. Watch TV, listen to the radio, chat. Let the baby get used to sleeping in some noise, else you'll forever be walking on your tiptoes and speaking in whispers.
20. Don't keep getting into a flap whenever its time to breast feed, looking for a dupatta to cover yourself, or hunting for an empty room while the baby wails in your arm. Throw people out. You have first right. If you were in the sitting room with three other people, let the other 3 leave and shut the door behind them. You stay where you are and start feeding. Its others who need to be considerate during this time, not you.
21. Stay away from all older mothers who viciously try and tell you its only going to get worse. Trust me, its not. It gets better every single day. Those who say it gets worse are just being malicious. Or else they were such lousy moms that maybe it got worse for them, who knows. You don't need to.
22. Get back to work as soon as you feel ready. Not a day earlier, not a day later. Don't go earlier out of a sense of obligation to the job - most companies are very sensitive to maternity issues these days. And don't go later out of a sense of obligation to the baby (even though you've organised the best, safest and most reliable day care possible) because the sooner the baby gets used to the fact that 'mommy leaves and then comes back' the sooner you'll be able to get your career back on track. And for us "Mom's at Work" that's important, right?
Monday, February 22, 2010
From PA to Parent
After 18 astounding, amazing, arduous, adventurous and awe inspiring months, I have wisened up to one very obvious, very basic truth.
A truth that we all probably intellectually know, but to grasp it at an emotional level takes time. Genuinely. And a fair amount of soul searching.
It is really important, essential even, to sit back, relax and enjoy your baby for who she is, and not view her simply as a milestone checklist.
Whoa. Hang on. Don't say 'but thats obvious'.... I know it is. But you don't even realise when you start to slip into the checklist mentality, especially nowadays, with so much written, shared, blogged, texted, exchanged about parenting.
When we were growing up, things were probably less specialised but also more holistic. Children were viewed as little people. Not a separate species. This had its bad as well as its good. I remember being taken to the same family doctor as the rest of the family, when I fell ill. Ma says we kids never had padeatricians. She can't even recall when we quit the bottle or started on solid food or any of those details, not just because it was so many years ago, but also because she wasn't keep track or writing dates on a diary. Nor was anybody telling her to achieve a certain target by a certain date.
She more or less went with her instinct, and far more importantly, with a sense of what we kids were ready for. And even, what she, as a mother and a woman, was ready for. As a result, whatever we did or achieved happened at a very organic level.
Compare that to today, when everyone, from the padeats to peers, are constantly giving you targets: Only breastfeed for the first 6 months. Don't give the bottle. Oh now give the bottle. Now you should be able to see so many teeth. Now there should be x number of words spoken. Now she should be crawling. What, isn't she running? O now stop the bottle. Start on solid food. Start on one fruit. Isn't she having juice? O doesn't she smile at strangers? Get her into a play group. O why aren't you taking other mothers out for lunch. O how much sun does she see? O she should by now be spending x hours outdoors. Only x minutes of TV. O start brushing without paste. Now start brushing with paste. Why did you start toilet training so early. O why haven't you started toilet training yet? Aren't you telling bed time stories still? O doesn't she understand cartoon shows?
O man. Before you know it, all you are doing is ticking off on a mental checklist. Your baby is only as pleasing as the next milestone she achieves. Your baby is laughing, but at the wrong time. Your baby is pointing, but at the wrong thing. Your baby is playing, but the wrong game...
And then one day you wake up to the sheer beauty and wonder and joy and delight and unique magical gift that she is.
And the entire weight falls off your shoulder.
You smile. You laugh. You gurgle back.
Congratulations. You just became a parent.
A truth that we all probably intellectually know, but to grasp it at an emotional level takes time. Genuinely. And a fair amount of soul searching.
It is really important, essential even, to sit back, relax and enjoy your baby for who she is, and not view her simply as a milestone checklist.
Whoa. Hang on. Don't say 'but thats obvious'.... I know it is. But you don't even realise when you start to slip into the checklist mentality, especially nowadays, with so much written, shared, blogged, texted, exchanged about parenting.
When we were growing up, things were probably less specialised but also more holistic. Children were viewed as little people. Not a separate species. This had its bad as well as its good. I remember being taken to the same family doctor as the rest of the family, when I fell ill. Ma says we kids never had padeatricians. She can't even recall when we quit the bottle or started on solid food or any of those details, not just because it was so many years ago, but also because she wasn't keep track or writing dates on a diary. Nor was anybody telling her to achieve a certain target by a certain date.
She more or less went with her instinct, and far more importantly, with a sense of what we kids were ready for. And even, what she, as a mother and a woman, was ready for. As a result, whatever we did or achieved happened at a very organic level.
Compare that to today, when everyone, from the padeats to peers, are constantly giving you targets: Only breastfeed for the first 6 months. Don't give the bottle. Oh now give the bottle. Now you should be able to see so many teeth. Now there should be x number of words spoken. Now she should be crawling. What, isn't she running? O now stop the bottle. Start on solid food. Start on one fruit. Isn't she having juice? O doesn't she smile at strangers? Get her into a play group. O why aren't you taking other mothers out for lunch. O how much sun does she see? O she should by now be spending x hours outdoors. Only x minutes of TV. O start brushing without paste. Now start brushing with paste. Why did you start toilet training so early. O why haven't you started toilet training yet? Aren't you telling bed time stories still? O doesn't she understand cartoon shows?
O man. Before you know it, all you are doing is ticking off on a mental checklist. Your baby is only as pleasing as the next milestone she achieves. Your baby is laughing, but at the wrong time. Your baby is pointing, but at the wrong thing. Your baby is playing, but the wrong game...
And then one day you wake up to the sheer beauty and wonder and joy and delight and unique magical gift that she is.
And the entire weight falls off your shoulder.
You smile. You laugh. You gurgle back.
Congratulations. You just became a parent.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Leaving Town
My first night away, my baby
I can't deflect it anymore
Chained to a job that expects a bit more...
Its been over two years,
Its some gratitude time
They have been so patient
Refusing wouldn't be so nice.
My airline of choice
Has downgraded me from platinum to blue
My frequent flyer miles
I can't deflect it anymore
Chained to a job that expects a bit more...
Its been over two years,
Its some gratitude time
They have been so patient
Refusing wouldn't be so nice.
My airline of choice
Has downgraded me from platinum to blue
My frequent flyer miles
Have been eaten up too
But as I take that flight
And spend that night
In a hotel room
My first unbroken sleep
In a millenia of gloom
I hope you won't cry baby
Mama's got a job
I hope you won't reach out in the dark
And whimper and sob
Because its so far away
And the first flight is at daylight
And in between
There's you and me
And an aloof sea
And the unwinding of one night........
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Broken Sleep
And with what adhesive do you join it back? Hold it tight so the breakage mends.
And baby sleep is whole again?
And baby sleep is whole again?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wild Weekend Party
Well, if you had mud on your face, grass in your hair and jam and peanut butter streaks on your face, wouldn't you call that wild?
Yeah, so its not what we described as a 'wild weekend' 5 years ago. So...?
Shaayari gets stuck to me with velcro on weekends. Friday night to Monday morning, I have many names for her: Clingaroo... Chipku Bandar... you get the idea.
I don't mind it. I am a weekend mom anyway. I am not going to grudge my little urchin her clingy weekend moments. I want to cling too.
I hate mondays. Its like a painful peeling off... the hurried bye and the rush out of the door before she starts to bawl is worse than a punch in the belly. Its like the first time that waxing strip came off your leg. Boy, it hurts.
This weekend we sunned ourselves, played in the dirt, ate cheeseballs, watched mindless bollywood songs on TV and cuddled each other silly.
We gaa-gaa-goo-gooed and sang and danced and romped.
We laughed and tickled and chin chucked.
We oil massaged and rock-a-bye babied and nose rubbed.
We slept. And woke up. And slept. And reached out to keep a little of each other always within arm's distance.
I inhaled baby smell. She sniffaroo-ed mama smell.
And then there was a monday morning, bath, change, ready and run. A huffed out, I-don't-want-to-see-your-face-when-I-do-this rushed 'bye shaayari' and a wail that follows you down the stairs, like a knife thrust.
Sometimes I wonder: which paycheque is worth that?
Shaayari gets stuck to me with velcro on weekends. Friday night to Monday morning, I have many names for her: Clingaroo... Chipku Bandar... you get the idea.
I don't mind it. I am a weekend mom anyway. I am not going to grudge my little urchin her clingy weekend moments. I want to cling too.
I hate mondays. Its like a painful peeling off... the hurried bye and the rush out of the door before she starts to bawl is worse than a punch in the belly. Its like the first time that waxing strip came off your leg. Boy, it hurts.
This weekend we sunned ourselves, played in the dirt, ate cheeseballs, watched mindless bollywood songs on TV and cuddled each other silly.
We gaa-gaa-goo-gooed and sang and danced and romped.
We laughed and tickled and chin chucked.
We oil massaged and rock-a-bye babied and nose rubbed.
We slept. And woke up. And slept. And reached out to keep a little of each other always within arm's distance.
I inhaled baby smell. She sniffaroo-ed mama smell.
And then there was a monday morning, bath, change, ready and run. A huffed out, I-don't-want-to-see-your-face-when-I-do-this rushed 'bye shaayari' and a wail that follows you down the stairs, like a knife thrust.
Sometimes I wonder: which paycheque is worth that?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Married Woman, Single Mom!
Now just HOW well does that describe your condition honey?
If not too well, then thank your living stars. You have an angel for a partner, and one who is TRULY liberated, unshackled from age old hand-me-down social conditioning and who genuinely believes that being a primary care giver is a two parent deal.
I have a darling of a husband. He's a friend, philosopher, guide, buddy, pet, teddy bear, confidante and lover all rolled into one delicious one.
What he is NOT is a full time dad.
And so I say. I am a married woman. But a single mom. When it comes to raising our daughter, my husband suddenly becomes a room mate. A sweet, accomodating room mate who will always extend a helping hand with the baby when asked. Who will always be a great support in times of crisis and emergency.
So what's wrong with the above sentence? These phrases, to be precise:
'a helping hand'. 'when asked'. 'great support'. 'in times of crisis and emergency'.
Hey, that wasn't the deal remember? It was all very great for Rachel in Friends to have a super supportive roomy in Joey (who was ok with everything except sharing 'hugsie') but Mr. Husband, we did this together right? We decided together right? We made her together right?
Then I sort of took over and went through the minor part of pregnancy and delivery and breast feeding - but these three things apart, WHAT is it exactly that you find so difficult to do?
The truth I guess, girls, is that no matter how liberated, how forward looking and how progressive a man is, he does fall back upon social conditioning in all areas that are a bother to him.
To some men it may be the kitchen (with my hubby it isn't. The kitchen is his turf, not mine) and to some others, it may be child rearing (thats the one thats the one thats the one!!!).
As tokenism, my hubby has done it all. He has changed diapers (about six times), he has washed up after her poop (about thrice), he has rocked her to sleep (twice, so far I think) and he's taken her for her vaccination shots (once alone, about five times with me).
Our daughter is one and a half. I have held her and rocked her and fed her and soothed her and woken with her and slept with her and gaa-gaa-goo-gooed to her each day of each month for 18 months.
Not let up. No break. No sleep aways in the study. No weekend getaway.
And I have been working for nearly 15 months of those 18. The first 3 from home, the balance 12 from office.
Thankfully I work in a great organisation where I am ridiculously senior and ridiculously indulged, because I just happen to have been around for 8 years. And for the first six of those eight years I have busted my ass. So I am now granted my down time. And my team continues to do brilliantly well. And in this day and age of wi fi, blackberry and WAPplications, geography is an irrelevant detail.
So I work from home, I work from my mom's home which is also my daughter's day care centre, I work from the car, I work from our terrace study, I work from my bedroom, I work from my gym or any other goddamn place that the world can reach me.
And hear me over the din my baby is making at that point in time.
Whenever I need to get out for a drink with friends, or a movie, my husband dutifully babysits. As long as the nanny is around.
In 18 months, my husband hasn't spent a single hour alone with our girl. If you suggest that he be alone, truly alone with her, he'd double freak, flip out and run away and hide.
You know why? Oh no, not because he's a bad guy. He's a super good guy.
But because he genuinely believes he has a choice.
And I don't.
Simple. That's where the debate ends. And single parenting starts.
If not too well, then thank your living stars. You have an angel for a partner, and one who is TRULY liberated, unshackled from age old hand-me-down social conditioning and who genuinely believes that being a primary care giver is a two parent deal.
I have a darling of a husband. He's a friend, philosopher, guide, buddy, pet, teddy bear, confidante and lover all rolled into one delicious one.
What he is NOT is a full time dad.
And so I say. I am a married woman. But a single mom. When it comes to raising our daughter, my husband suddenly becomes a room mate. A sweet, accomodating room mate who will always extend a helping hand with the baby when asked. Who will always be a great support in times of crisis and emergency.
So what's wrong with the above sentence? These phrases, to be precise:
'a helping hand'. 'when asked'. 'great support'. 'in times of crisis and emergency'.
Hey, that wasn't the deal remember? It was all very great for Rachel in Friends to have a super supportive roomy in Joey (who was ok with everything except sharing 'hugsie') but Mr. Husband, we did this together right? We decided together right? We made her together right?
Then I sort of took over and went through the minor part of pregnancy and delivery and breast feeding - but these three things apart, WHAT is it exactly that you find so difficult to do?
The truth I guess, girls, is that no matter how liberated, how forward looking and how progressive a man is, he does fall back upon social conditioning in all areas that are a bother to him.
To some men it may be the kitchen (with my hubby it isn't. The kitchen is his turf, not mine) and to some others, it may be child rearing (thats the one thats the one thats the one!!!).
As tokenism, my hubby has done it all. He has changed diapers (about six times), he has washed up after her poop (about thrice), he has rocked her to sleep (twice, so far I think) and he's taken her for her vaccination shots (once alone, about five times with me).
Our daughter is one and a half. I have held her and rocked her and fed her and soothed her and woken with her and slept with her and gaa-gaa-goo-gooed to her each day of each month for 18 months.
Not let up. No break. No sleep aways in the study. No weekend getaway.
And I have been working for nearly 15 months of those 18. The first 3 from home, the balance 12 from office.
Thankfully I work in a great organisation where I am ridiculously senior and ridiculously indulged, because I just happen to have been around for 8 years. And for the first six of those eight years I have busted my ass. So I am now granted my down time. And my team continues to do brilliantly well. And in this day and age of wi fi, blackberry and WAPplications, geography is an irrelevant detail.
So I work from home, I work from my mom's home which is also my daughter's day care centre, I work from the car, I work from our terrace study, I work from my bedroom, I work from my gym or any other goddamn place that the world can reach me.
And hear me over the din my baby is making at that point in time.
Whenever I need to get out for a drink with friends, or a movie, my husband dutifully babysits. As long as the nanny is around.
In 18 months, my husband hasn't spent a single hour alone with our girl. If you suggest that he be alone, truly alone with her, he'd double freak, flip out and run away and hide.
You know why? Oh no, not because he's a bad guy. He's a super good guy.
But because he genuinely believes he has a choice.
And I don't.
Simple. That's where the debate ends. And single parenting starts.
She's Alive.
Working moms are clearly immortal.
They have to be. Else they'd have died long ago.
Died of exhaustion. Died of anxiety. Died of overwork. Died of sleep deprivation. Died from an overdose of unwanted advice. Died of multi tasking mania.
Died of guilt.
Honestly, before we get into what a working mom lives with, works with, deals with, copes with, lets spend a moment in sheer wonder at the fact that she is still alive. And even more fascinating - she is still sane.
Be glad she's alive. If you listen carefully, if you pay a little bit of attention, you will get life's worthiest lessons from her.
Lessons on big heartedness. Lessons on patience. Lessons on sensitivity and compassion and empathy and fortitude and committment and caring.
Lessons in love. Pure unconditional love.
So go ahead. Spend some time with her. While's she wrecking her own physical mental and psychological well being, she can contribute hugely to yours.
They have to be. Else they'd have died long ago.
Died of exhaustion. Died of anxiety. Died of overwork. Died of sleep deprivation. Died from an overdose of unwanted advice. Died of multi tasking mania.
Died of guilt.
Honestly, before we get into what a working mom lives with, works with, deals with, copes with, lets spend a moment in sheer wonder at the fact that she is still alive. And even more fascinating - she is still sane.
Be glad she's alive. If you listen carefully, if you pay a little bit of attention, you will get life's worthiest lessons from her.
Lessons on big heartedness. Lessons on patience. Lessons on sensitivity and compassion and empathy and fortitude and committment and caring.
Lessons in love. Pure unconditional love.
So go ahead. Spend some time with her. While's she wrecking her own physical mental and psychological well being, she can contribute hugely to yours.
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