Don’t say the ‘M’ word

I just read this and this and since I as usual had so much to say - I have turned back to my own blog instead of hogging their space. To begin with - I *so* agree.

Incase you haven’t read the links, we’re talking periods here. I mean hey.. we’ve discussed breastfeeding and pooping babies and circumcision. Why not rush in further where angels fear to tread?

As both the women in the posts I’ve linked to mentioned, women of even our generation have been given every freedom but the one that allows them into religious places when they have their period. I don’t get it.

Yes, I am aware of the old logic that this was the only time a woman was given rest and so they called her impure and told her not to come out of her room. Puja was a lengthy affair and required much effort so she was excused from that also. But that then got twisted further and soon moved on to other things. If a menstruating woman touches the pickles/jams - they get spoilt. So no working with preserves, yes, again, I know it was hard work and it was a way of excusing them.

But now we know better don’t we? We know that if a woman wants rest she can have it and if she wants to continue with her regular work she will. How about giving them the freedom and the choice to get up and be normal or lie down and rest depending on how they feel?

Today we have pain medication, tampons and pads with wings- just about every option being advertised loudly and boldly, so that women are comfortable. And menstruating women are climbing mountains, doing surgery, working in NASA and God alone what else - but *still* not allowed into temples and churches. So for God’s sake - how about giving that old superstition a well deserved retirement? It served its purpose and went on to be abused and misused. Its time we put it to bed. Firmly.

Long ago there was this time when I didn’t get up to take communion in Church. Dad glared at me since he was half way up the aisle. Caused a bit of a disturbance by stopping midway and walking back to our pew to ask me what was wrong. Told him why I wasn’t coming. He didn’t think twice about giving me the dirtiest look. And then right there, in Church, in the hushed silence he ripped into me and told me that I am not to perpetuate anymore of this nonsense. Errr. okay.

Some people are surprised at that. But our family converted some 5 generations ago and some of the old Hindu customs lived on. That said, no community is free from its hang ups. I once went to Church in a saree with a bindi on. The Priest turned me away from the altar without communion - saying that my Bindi was a Hindu symbol and I shouldn’t wear it to Church. I went back to my pew with tears in my eyes. Dad was so mad he almost socked the Priest. And his family unfortunately stood by the Priest’s dictats. We didn’t ever go back to worship there. I don’t believe God can live in the midst of ignorance and superstition and hatred of another’s customs. That the thali that most South Indian Christians wear is an adaptation of the Hindu mangalsutra is not even an argument we got into with the Priest. I don’t think he was worthy of our time and attention.

Getting back to the period thing. And the rest - I wear gold anklets. Always have. My mother did too. And time and again I have been told gold is not worn on the feet unless you are a Rajput. Fair enough. (Well not so fair - what makes it okay for the Rajputs to wear it?!) That is their call. But is it fair to foist that on those who don’t believe it? My maid drove me nuts. Everytime she walked into the house to do the dishes, she’d see my anklets since I was in shorts and would get very upset and want me to take them off. Once some random idiot on the train caught a glimpse of my anklets under my jeans and decided to tell me that I was committing a sin. Strong words. She gave me the story that gold is precious. Hence to be worshipped and must not be worn on the feet.

Well - maybe you don’t want to wear it on your feet, but why stop me? I am not forcing you to wear it. Maybe some communities believe in a veil or a hijaab. Would you like that to be forced on you?

What is it that makes feet so unworthy of respect? Why is it okay to touch books with your hands and not your feet? (I’ve done two posts on feet. I must dig them up.) They are all body parts and worthy of my respect. Even the body part that shoots my babies out. Truly. All made by the God we all so fervently worship and like to blame our ignorance on.

The best I can think of here is that in the old days people didn’t have proper footwear and feet were dirty and cracked. So, don’t put them on clean beds or books or any other place that needs to be kept clean. But what is the problem today? Why are feet treated like poor cousins? Mine are clean and soft and well maintained. More than my face at the best of times. So?

Many like to argue that it’s simpler not to argue with people and just do it to keep them happy. I think that is the wrong way to look at it. You’re perpetuating superstition and forcing the next generation of people to believe this nonsense too. Teaching our boys that there is something wrong with periods. Teaching our girls that its something to be ashamed of.

I remember a friend whose mother would make her get up at the crack of dawn and wash out stained sheets and underwear so that her father and brother didn’t know she was having her period. And she was not supposed to lie back in bed and show that something was wrong. Now that to me is the other extreme. Her mother told her it would be extremely shameful to get up in the morning and for her father or brother to find out that she had her period. Errrr… why? What is wrong with her period I wanted to know. Wouldn’t it be abnormal if she never had one? Wouldn’t *that* be a problem?

And on the other hand I had this nice family friend - a guy, whose mother would send give him money on the way to school to buy sanitary napkins on the way back, for her and his sister. And he grew up to be so kind and considerate. Getting a hot water bottle, buying some chocolate on the way back - this a teenage boy. I hope to be able to bring up my son to be that considerate.

Don’t fuss said my mother and grandmother. You don’t need medicine. I would cramp and be in agony and not say a word. The moment I knew I was getting married, I said, to hell with mother and grandmother, I am now out of their home. I had a check up and was found to have cysts. No wonder the agony. And nobody bothered with me because that is how it was meant to be. We were meant to be stoic. The upside is that I can bear any amount of pain now and you will never see me lie down, pop a pill or complain.

And this is what bothers me. The extremes. Either you are thrown in a dark room, not allowed to worship, touch preservatives and do a dozen other things depending on what community you belong to. Or you are told to act normal and pretend nothing is wrong. Don’t complain. Don’t take an afternoon nap. Don’t mention that you are having what is normal and happens every month. Just stay mum and suffer. Or then be discriminated against.

And that is when I get into arguments with friends. Over discretion being the better part of valour. Not in this case, no thank you. Not for me. Don’t stay quiet. Don’t let it pass. Don’t be a part of something so unfair, so archaic, so sexist. Do you strongly believe that it’s unfair? Then stand up for what you believe in. Never mind old ladies and mothers and grandmothers and MILs and SILs and hurting their feelings. I think its a bigger issue than a few hurt feelings.

I have a daughter. I will not be allowing her anywhere where restrictions are placed on her during her periods. If she is not good enough to be welcome during her periods, I am afraid that place is not good enough for her at all. Because I am not passing on any message to her that says this is something to be ashamed of, afraid of or to lie about. To her grandmother, her friend’s mother or any place of worship.

What amazes me is that it took my father to stand up for me before anything came of it - a man. It has so long been considered a woman’s issue that you won’t see men getting involved. And that is what I want for my Bean. I want the men in our family to make sure she is treated well too. So if she is unwelcoe in some place during her periods - not just she or I but even my son and my husband will not be bothered with such places or people. We will stand by the right to be treated equally and fairly as a family.

 

At fourteen months

(Hear ye, hear ye… the Bean is fourteen months old today)

Never before have I looked forward to a monthly birthday post so much. The Bean is fourteen months old and I’ve just been going nuts. She is wicked. She is full of life. She is learning so fast that toddlerhood seems like it’s flying past.

With a bunch of little teeth sprouting.. she’s got a full set in front and not scared to use them. And she’s sleeping better. Sometimes just waking up twice in the night. I didn’t think it would happen in this lifetime (anti jinx).

Words come tumbling out. She loves pointing at the moon and screaming ‘moooooon’. And thanks to the Brat’s hectic social schedule she has been to more parties in the last two months than I have in a year - So her latest? ‘Happy to you’!!

She’s proved me wrong by being completely social. So while she doesn’t like strangers grabbing her. She doesn’t hide behind my skirts either, and as Poppins and I have discussed often, that was my biggest fear. I don’t care if she wears her diapers a year longer or drinks from a bottle. I just don’t want her to be shy and shrinking. And being the OA and my child, it would be hard for either of our children not to be sociable! At a party she leaves us and floats off to the nursery, unafraid and ready to make friends. She isn’t scared at finding herself in a room full of strangers and walks around inquisitively, and imperiously, almost as though they should be scared of her.

Should the door bell ring, she rushes to the door calling ‘Kaun? kaun’ (Who is it?). She loves the phone like all kids and when I am at my wit’s end I let her play with the land line. She’s dialled some of my editors once in a while but I am hoping they will not hold it against me! ‘Hello’…and a string of gibberish. Ending with her name. Always her name. The baby mail says she should know 6 words by now… I’m afraid we’re way past that.

She knows most of her body parts and will lift up whatever she is wearing to show you her belly button. don’t bother asking her about any other body part once you’ve asked about the belly button because then she gets down to examining it and is completely distracted!! And oh - we’re a long way from potty training yet, but she does tell you when she’s done something - of course its called potty.

She knows most of her clothes comes running to you with her shoes saying ‘Shoesie, shoesie, park, park.’ Basically - Help me wear my shoes and then take me to the park. Right, whatever you say, your highness. The moment I put on my dupatta she knows I am headed out and hangs on to my legs like a little limpet. Ghoomi mama, ghoomi…. (take me out).

She knows what she wants to eat and cheese, dudu.. her favourite words roll off her tongue. And of course the advantage of a multilingual family - she’s learning Bengali and tells us she wants her bath, in Bengali.

And as usual the favourite word is the one we use on her all the time - No. So along with picking it up in English, wagging an admonitory finger at us and saying, no no no no. She’s also perfected a Bollywood style scream - nahiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii nahi nahi.

Unlike the Brat she isn’t yet interested in books and most often is busy playing with a ball or dragging a camel around mercilessly. The best she’s done yet, is to chew up his books and enrage him.

Conflicts between them are growing and she is by far the offender more often. Grabbing his books, his toys and driving him to despair. I spend my day firefighting and ensuring that in the process of taking a book back from her he doesn’t hurt her. I probably should let them handle it themselves in a while, but as of now its easy for her to get hurt and the difference in strength is rather obvious.

She has my sweet nature and throws tantrums at the drop of a hat! All day I am dealing with her throwing tantrums because she doesn’t want to wash her face or *does* want to have a bath just when I am going in for one and she’s already had one. Or wants the very ball the Brat has. Or wants to answer the intercom and can’t reach it. Her temper scares me. Mostly because I can see myself in her. The rage. The frustration. The I-want-it-now-or-I’ll-know-the-reason-why-ness. I thought the Brat was bad when he threw fits. But its hard to deal with all eight kilos of her little wildcat self. The imperious little foot that stamps when angered. The little body that flings itself backward on the floor to show disapproval. It’s funny… because she got in me, the mother who is old and worn out, like a pair of faded jeans that fit well. Less particular, less hysterical. Sigh. It’s her nature I guess. In which case I need to be all the more alert to dealing with it, and more importantly, teaching her to deal with it.

I thought I had everything all noted and ready but I seem to have run out of steam so I shall stop forcing it. Happy Birthday my little monkling. Here’s a big huggggy from mama. Yes - she learned that from the Brat.

 

If my life was a music album - Tag

Tagged by Chandni for my favourite kind of tag - the music kind!

Rules of the tag: Various situations are given. You have to come up with a song ( or a couple) that aptly describe those situations in YOUR life.

Opening credits: Chhoti si asha - Roja/ Hard headed woman - Cat Stevens

Waking up: Beautiful Sunday - Daniel Boone

Average day: Katra katra - Ijaazat

First date: Fire - Babyface and Des’ree

Falling in love: I don’t trust myself (with loving you) - John Mayer/ Can’t help falling in love - Elvis Presley

Love Scene: Feeling love - Paula Cole/ You can leave your hat on - Joe Cocker

Fight Scene: Cause we’ve ended as lovers - Jeff Beck/ If you’re gone - Matchbox 20

Breaking up: I’ll be okay - Amanda Marshall/ Breakdown - Tom Petty

Getting back together: High - Lighthouse Family

Secret love: Always with you always with me - Joe Satriani/ She has no time - Keane

Life’s ok: Why worry - Dire Straits

Mental Breakdown: We didn’t start the fire - Billy Joel/ All along the Watchtower - Jimi hendrix (yes, we know it belongs to Dylan - but say it with me, Hendrix rocks!)

Driving: Always with you always with me - Joe Satriani (So what if its an instrumental?!)/ Cruisin‘ - Huey Lewis & Gwyneth Paltrow

Learning a lesson: Your latest trick - Dire Straits/ New Kid in Town - Eagles/ The Living Years - Mike & the Mechanics

Deep thought: Abhi nahi Aana - Sona/ Cherry Blossom Girl - Air

Flashback: These are the days of our lives - Queen/ Everything that glitters - Dan Seal

Partying: Dilemma - Nelly & Kelly/ Tilt ya head back - Nelly & Christina Aguilera

Happy Dance: Do you wanna dance - Cliff Richard / Musicology - Prince (No Prince on Youtube - I didn’t know that!)

Regretting: Sad eyes - Bruce Springsteen/ Driving with the brakes on - Del Amitri

Long night alone: Everybody hurts - REM/

Death Scene: The time of my life - Dirty Dancing/ Last Kiss - Pearl Jam

Closing Credits: Compulsory Hero - 1927/Dhoom Tana - Shubha Mudgal/ Salman Ahmed

I am not done with this one mostly because it has so much scope. Any suggestions? I don’t know who to tag. Perakath - wanna do it? Brother dear - I know you’re reading - will you do it? Other music lovers?

 

Get up and take a walk, Pops…

My parents passed by Delhi on their way back from the South last night. My dad isn’t very well and is suffering from a UTI prostatitis for the last 3 months. He’s been on every type of medication and nothing seems to give him relief for more than a few days. Ayurveda, homoeopathy, biochemic…

I am finding it extremely hard to handle and with my customary tact and grace have been telling him to make a will fast if he wants to act like he’s dead. That was just one of the many comments. The OA pointed out that he may not die of the UTI, he might just kill himself to get relief from my nastiness. Ah - point taken.

The tired looking man who limped up the stairs and stayed in bed in the guestroom until it was time to leave is such a far cry from the man I know as my father. He just doesn’t rise to the bait anymore! I say something rude, wait for a response from the only man who has a temper that equals mine and feel extremely disappointed that he is too sick to respond.

I’ve always been very proud of my parents. While others went through that phase maybe even in school when parents were an embarassment, I didn’t. I think they’re very cool and with it and most often I am amazed that they are old enough to be grandparents, come from a small town and yet hold their own with such ease in most conversations, are entrepreneurial and interesting.

So on the odd occasion that they come up with something old fashioned or old age related, I stare in shock. I can’t understand it when they crawl around playing horsie with the babies. Or when they patiently feed my children an egg, weaving stories around it and clowning around. When ma gets up and I note the slight limp as her stiff knee gets exercised, I look at the pant suit she is in and can’t reconcile the two images. Who are these old people, I wonder. And when did they age?

I am perhaps my dad’s biggest admirer and greatest critic. Our fights are legendary. When I go home and we have a fight he tells me to go back to Delhi and my own home - just get out of his house. When he comes here, I scream and yell as loud as him, tell him to go back to his own house and bang doors. Ma runs from door to door pleading with us to stop arguing. She eats breakfast with him, lunch with me and dinner with the OA since by that time the fight has progressed to a level where neither of us are willing to share the room with the other. The OA usually pokes his head in, realises there is a fight on, slinks away to sit with my mother so that he doesn’t have to take sides… and the two murmur in low voices about hot headed spouses. My mother glad to find a calm, like minded person in her son in law. The OA happy to see that atleast one person in the family he has married in to, is pacific.

Last night I put the parents on the train and came home really upset. Praying hard for my sparring partner to recover fast. The man who made me the person I am. Gave me my first cigarette and my first drink - ensuring I never touched the darn things again. I bet that was some evil trick to mess with my head. The man who spent an hour teaching me to whistle with my fingers in my mouth. The man who took me fishing. The man who let me make my mistakes, airhostess, model, guest relations… The man who got me out of many a mess. The man who stood by me when I chose the man who I wanted to spend my life with. The man who stood tall and made it difficult for any man to measure up to daddy. The man who is the life of every party. Who gave me my love for music but not his talent for playing the guitar!

It’s hard to think of your parents as mortal or old. Even at age 30 I can’t imagine any problem being too big to be solved by my parents. Yes, I am immensely in awe of them. The OA says he is always careful not to push too far because he knows that the day I walk out with the kids, I will be welcomed home with open arms, even if I am wrong. They might tell me I am wrong, but the doors will always be open to me.

Long ago in college Room no. A 12, we sat listening to music. The best friend and I. And Wind Beneath my Wings was playing on the radio. We began to talk about our fathers. How hard it was to imagine life without them. And I got up and walked to her window, pretending to admire the flowers outside. But blinking away tears. I needn’t have bothered. I noticed her wiping away tears in the reflection in the glass window panes. We turned around laughing… tears forgotten. But it was a quick reminder of why she is the best friend. And how much fathers mean to us.

It’s her son’s birthday today.

And also my grandmother’s second death anniversary.

It’s been a queer day. Been feeling slightly upset since morning. Upset about dad, missing grandma, sad that the little nephew I awaited eagerly is two years old already and growing up so far away from me.

I switched off my computer and my brain this afternoon and did something I haven’t done in years. I went and lay down with the Bean in the nursery. The Brat on his bed, the Bean in hers. The desert cooler was on. The noise soothing and calming, the room cool and dark. I just lay next to the two babies, giving the brain a break. And unused to afternoon naps, I couldn’t switch off, so I just tried to keep my mind blank. It worked. I feel better already. And nothing like an old movie song to laugh over and cheer up. Does anyone remember that Archies used to sell these little thingies saying I love you so much it hurts?! Wow - we’re old. I’m old! And oh - not that anyone asked me, but if you did, I’d say Bhagyashree’s voice was her nemesis!

 

And the award goes to…

… The Mad Momma!!!

And whats more - it’s for nice matters. Well whaddya know, huh?! Thanks Dipali. And Mummy Jaan Much appreciated.

I’d like to pass this on to some friends - old and new - who write about stuff that is interesting. Nice matters. Grail. Crabby Mommy. Little Tortoise. And Null Pointer.

While we’re talking about blogging mothers - lets talk about some more about blogging mothers.

So Mother’s Day was celebrated with blogging mommies being quoted in this article. Yes - Tara, Kodi’s mom, Poppin’s mom, UTBT and me! We’re in the news girls!

And if you think being a mommy isn’t a big deal - Read this article. Apparently, being a mother, sharpens your brains. Excellent. I shall put that on my CV when I am ready to go back to work. Organisational skills, multi tasking, empathy, self-restraint, conflict resolution. Great.

 

Oh saathi re… tere bina bhi kya jeena

It’s two a.m. and the Bean who has been teething, is pooping at hourly intervals. I figured I may as well get up and blog! The OA is where else - but in Bombay!

I was most upset at him being away over the weekend and he coaxed me into going and catching up with some old college friends. I put the babies to sleep and left hesitantly. I haven’t been out at night for a party without the OA since we got married. I don’t drive. I didn’t want to ask a stranger for a lift home. But I went.

And I am so glad I did. I met so many new and interesting people. An event manager. A dentist. Musicians. A puppeteer. A song writer. An about-to-be-launched author. A magazine editor. A photographer. Worlds apart from the usual IT and management type we seem to meet these days. And all came solo. Some divorced. Some partying separately from spouses. Some just single. All interesting people. Fun chatter. From movies to music to literature. They were all mostly my age or older, and yet I didn’t realise it because of the carefree way in which they behaved. None looked like or behaved like parents. Particularly not the hot model in the little dress, with healthy, shiny hair and long legs. The mother of a six year old. I felt silly and ridiculous for letting the fact that I am mother and a wife be such a huge part of my identity. Not so much in my interactions with others, but in my own head.

Much spontaneous fun was had. We played Dumb Charades after years. Well, I was playing after years. A Britisher forced to act out a Hindi movie, sportingly breaking it up into English words and acting it out.  Glasses were accidentally kicked over and broken - the sign of a successful evening. Sitting sprawled out on a terrace under the starry sky. Lovely music. I was introduced to some new music. Some of it was … errr.. interesting. There was also some old music and it made me nostalgic.

And there, for the first time in two years, somebody recognised me as the mad momma. Don’t ask me how. I sat quietly in a corner. Soaking in the sights. Sipping orange juice. Other than the college mate, nobody knew my name. There were no introductions. It was that kind of party where a cigarette was passed around, people floated in and out. Conversations began and ended randomly. And every one was peaceful. I didn’t even mention my name, let alone talk about having a husband and children. Or a blog. I’d always figured that if it ever happened, it would be a mother who reads my blog and sees me out with the kids. I certainly didn’t expect a long haired, eyebrow pierced biker to recognise me without the children or mention of blog.

So I got psyched. Well, it was my fault. I knew the guy from Facebook and some common friends so I was kidding him about being a stalker when he turned the tables. I was suitably shocked. My friend laughed and told me that ‘Yeh Internet ka baap hai - He’s been there, blogged that and gotten over it. Ah I see. Still doesn’t explain how he figured it out.

Food had apparently been polished off. I scrounged around in the fridge and made myself a cheese sandwich. As I stood there chatting, the sandwich neglected in my hand, someone walked up behind me, broke half of it ate it up. I can’t remember the last time I felt so at home in the midst of strangers.

So different from our well organised parties with three different types of chicken and tables laid perfectly. The correct wine glasses and hors d’ouvres. The folded napkins and the matching tableware.

I left considerably early. They all decided to go pick up swimsuits and join a pool party. I knew it was time to come home to my babies. As I shut the door to their house and walked out, it’s like I walked away from one planet and landed back in my own. The sound of laughter floating down with the music as an acquaintance went out of his way to drop me home safely.

Back to my own bourgeois little life with my husband and babies and the safety of conventional jobs and choices. I climbed up the stairs feeling old, boring and tired. And then let myself into the house and walked into the nursery. I kissed the Brat’s soft cheek and inhaled the familiar Johnson’s baby smell. Brought me back to terra firma. I walked into my own room and the Bean curled in among her pillows and blanket, her lashes resting on her chubby cheeks were the last straw. All memories of the party wiped out, I began to change for the night. And the Bean decided to make up for her good behaviour by pooping at every hour, to make a point that teething shouldn’t be easy on a mother.

Perhaps the best thing that came of this evening was that the OA and I messaged each other all evening like lovesick teenagers after many years. He at his office offsite team building event. I with these friends. We’ll be glad to be back together as a family tomorrow morning. And will have lunch with our regular crowd and their babies. There’s something to be said for familiarity too.

 

Happy Mother’s Day

This is a very, very special song. The story behind it is that my brother and I learnt to sing it when we were 8 and 9 respectively and practiced hard. You can imagine how hard it was for us two little children to hold our secret close.

It was easy because both parents were at work and the two of us would sit for hours, trying to understand the lyrics in the accented English. Play, pause, write a word, rewind, play…. And then all this while my brother struggled to learn the chords. Finally we got it right and we did a little performance for my parents.

They had both come home tired from work, had dinner and were unwinding. We both came out from behind a curtain (full drama!) - the guitar almost as big as my brother. We sang it for them and my mother cried openly (I hope it was not the poor singing!) and my dad blinked back tears.

It’s a song called Anak (My child) - by a Philipino artist called Freddie Aguilar. It may not be appropriate but whenever I think of a parent and child relationship, this song comes to mind. The lyrics are beautiful and I just wanted to share it with you because to me music speaks of love. I loved the video too….

I’m going to take the liberty of dedicating today’s post to my Mama from my Tambi and me. Love you, Ma.

Anak (Child)

When you were born into this world
Your mom and dad saw a dream fulfilled
A dream come true
The answer to their prayers

You were to them a special child
Gave ‘em joy every time you smiled
Each time you cried
They were at your side to care

Child, you don’t know
You’ll never know how far they’d go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it’s true
They’d die for you, if they must, to see you live

How many seasons came and went
So many years have now been spent
For time ran fast
And now at last you’re strong

Now what has gotten over you
You seem to hate your parents too
Speak out your mind
Why do you find them wrong

Child you don’t know
You’ll never know how far they’d go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it’s true
They’d die for you, if they must, to see you live

And now your path has gone astray
Child you ain’t sure what to do or say
You’re so alone
No friends are on your side

And child you now break down in tears
Let them drive away your fears
Where must you go
Their arms stay open wide

Child you don’t know
You’ll never know how far they’d go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it’s true
They’d die for you, if they must, to see you live

Child you don’t know
You’ll never know how far they’d go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it’s true
They’d die for you, if they must, to see you live

This is the original version. The words make no sense to me but the emotion is so apparent. This is a version by some female artist. I find her voice very soothing too.

 

Absolutely random mommy tips

The other day I opened the front door to a friend, in full face-masked glory. She almost had a heart attack. I’d forgotten I had it on so her reaction almost gave me a heart attack. I was bathing the kids and she wanted to know if they were hiding under a bucket at the sight of me in a face mask. Not really, they’re used to it. Anyway, it made me decide to list my time saving and non-time saving tips. Mother’s Day is coming up on the 11th of May and I thought it would be a very practical celebration. I have a house full of people and a packed weekend so I might not get around to doing this on the day either…. So!

1. Put on your face mask, hair oil, foot cream yaada yaada before bathing the kids. That way it gets time to act on your skin and hair while they splash around. And the moisture and steam in the bathroom helps. It also saves time.

2. I usually dip my feet in a small tub of water while the kids bathe, and give it a good scrub while they are splashing around. If it’s only the Brat in the tub then I just wash the dust off my feet and put my feet into the tub he is bathing in. I justify it by saying it would be pretty much the same if we were bathing in the same tub and anyway I am sure they both pee in the water so….The soap and emollient in the water work wonders. If not, I usually bathe after the kids, so I leave that soapy baby tub and stand in it while I bathe.

3. Since the Bean has eczema I am stuck with all the nice, fancy bath and body products that we picked up for her. So I use them :D. I love the baby smell. Nothing removes makeup, specially eye makeup, like Johnson’s Baby Oil.

4. I paint my toenails and put on my make up in the car if we’re going out someplace. Its the only place there is peace. And since I dress the kids I always end up with only minutes to spare and am literally wearing my saree on the way down the strairs. So I strap them into their car seats and get to work every time we stop at a traffic signal. This of course only works so well because I don’t drive.

5. A ticking alarm clock near the Brat and the Bean or a TV on in the background used to make them sleep well because it is said to sound like a heartbeat. Something they were used to, in utero. They don’t wake up and get alarmed by the sudden silence. Infact if I put them to sleep with the TV blaring they sleep even better. Some white noise is always good.

6. A housecoat or dupatta that smells of me, chucked on them, works wonders. They sleep longer because they can smell you on it and they feel safe.

7. I did plenty of gardening with them in the sling. They love looking and yet aren’t close enough to eat leaves or mud.

(The Brat sits in the dining room, facing the kitchen - looking out of the balcony and tasting as I cook our regular meal that will be his too.)

8. Cooking baby food was easy. For the first 6 months they got it straight from Mother Dairy, no expressing, nothing. No sterilising, no carrying bottles when you travel, nothing. Once they began to eat I just kept spices low and oil less in our meals and would puree up whatever vegetable I had cooked for the OA and myself, and add some curd if I still felt it was spicy. That apart they began to eat bits of bread and chapati themselves the moment they were sitting up and able to hold stuff.

9. Days are non-diapered but nights are diapered. It gives them a restful sleep - and both were bad sleepers until atleast a year. Daytime, I don’t mind changing susu nappies ten times an hour.

And here is some advice for Mothers to Be.

1. If God forbid you end up having a C-sec, errr… accept it as God’s will. And don’t wriggle your toes and fight and struggle to stay in control. You just end up feeling yourself being cut open and that is not fun. Okay, didn’t mean to scare you but really, give in and just lie back.

2. I don’t know about abroad, but if you can get someone to start giving you back rubs after the first 2 weeks, it really helps. If not, you are stuck with not so much a back ache as a stiffness. If it’s a normal delivery I think in 2-3 days we start getting full body massages here. Its amazing.

3. DO NOT BEND. Even if its for a minute to change a diaper, please kneel or sit near the baby. Bend your knees to pick up the baby. Otherwise you ring the death knell on your back. That’s not fun either.

4. I don’t think the Brat was very jealous of the Bean mostly because he was around all the time. It broke my back to be saddled with both on my lap, but it helped to build a nice little bond. He carried diapers, wiped her nose and still dotes on her (anti-jinx!).

5. Ask the Other Adult in your house to take over the little one when he gets back so that you can spend time alone with the elder one. Really works. Particularly in the case of SAHMs where the elder one is used to your full attention up until now.

6. If you’re having the baby in India and don’t have a crib full of bumpers and duvets and stuff, and it’s just a good old bed, try putting the baby to sleep on its belly. It prevents gas and also makes them feel safe - they don’t startle awake like babies on their backs.

7. If you’re busy - pull the crib to a window and let them look out - the Brat used to be fascinated by the birds and trees out of my Chennai window.

(The view Brat got from our living room in Chennai as he lay there gurgling when friends visited.)

8. Don’t let the doctors bulldoze you into every single vaccine. Read up a little on the net, take a second opinion. If you have a doctor in the family, call them up even if they’re in another city and check with them. Sometimes its a waste of time and money and an unnecessary poke in the butt for poor baby.

9. I used to feed the Brat whatever I had cooked for the OA and myself. I just reduced the spice in it. That worked beautifully once I had the Bean because I was so short on time. As a result she eats everything we eat (pureed when she didn’t have enough teeth) and it saved me time.

10. I was terrified of squashing the Brat in my bed when he was a newborn and didn’t want to co-sleep. But the first few weeks were just endlessly long feeds and I was tired so I used to fall asleep while he nursed. Ma told me that no mother ever squashes her baby - you will be happy to know I didn’t. I doubt you will either! And even if I did, I didn’t find out and neither does he bear the scars. It’s all good.

11. A baby bag that doesn’t have cartoons and baby pictures on it is cooler - the OA carried it more than me and he hated it!! He was only happy when I threw the silly pastel coloured monstrosity away. So get something that isn’t disgustingly baby-fied because its most often the dad carrying it. I know you get nice plain colour ones abroad. Here in India I just bought a funky college student bag in khaki that the OA didn’t hate at sight. It even has a cell phone pocket so I didn’t need to carry my own handbag along too.

12. I always keep an extra diaper, wet wipes and a bottle of water in my handbag. That way if I ever just HAVE to rush down for a second I don’t have to pack a second bag and lug it around and I can just up and out within seconds. I also have a box of wet wipes and a hand sanitizer in the car. For emergencies.

FINALLY - Ignore all advice and do what your gut says. Neither I nor any other mum nor your own mum nor the pediatrician is as clued into your baby as you are.

With much love to all you mothers, on your special day. Happy Mother’s Day in advance.

The rest of you - any words of advice or handy tips you have? Do leave them as comments!

Edited to add - Read Poppins’ tips here.

 

Little bleeding heart

Brat: (Comes tearing into my room screaming in terror and anguish) Mama! Mama! Come soon!

MM literally falls out of her chair and goes running: What’s wrong baby?

Brat: Beanie’s tooth is broken.

Beanie fell this morning and cut her lip so I am scared there’s been a repeat performance. I run with him. We tell her to open her little mouth. She opens it willingly if uncomprehendingly.

It’s just the little tooth that has been struggling to come out for the last few days! Only now is it half way out and the Brat sees half the tooth and imagines she’s broken it!

Yes, yes, I explained to him that it’s a tooth on its way out. And he’s gone back to making pretend food on his kitchen set and she sits with her little bird mouth open, and he feeds her pretend rice and dal.

———————-

So we’re at Baby T’s birthday. The cake is cut.

MM whispers to a Brat watching the proceedings with awe writ large on his face. ‘Hey Brat. The cake looks delicious. Want a piece?’

Brat turns back with tear filled eyes: I don’t want cake.

MM: Why? It looks lovely.

Brat: Yes, but the teddy bear on top was crying.

MM:???

Light bulb moment - The candle on the cake was shaped like a teddy bear and began to melt when it was lit. Obviously the head melted first and it broke my gentle son’s heart to see the teddy bear ‘crying’. Reminds me of Gauri’s little son and the ice cream eraser.

Edited to add: On further examination we find not one tooth but four teeth coming out at the same time. Bean doesn’t believe in doing things in half measures.

 

Not so happy to be right

Brat: Mama?

MM: Yes Brat?

Brat: Sing Wee Willie Winkie.

MM: Okay. (Obliges.)

Brat: Mama… sing Lakdi ki kaathi

MM: No baby.. I’ve been singing for half an hour. This was the last song for the night. Now go to sleep. Don’t you want to go to school tomorrow?

Brat. No. I don’t want to go to school

MM: Why? Don’t we have fun? Didn’t you have the splash pool today?

Brat: Yes. We had splash pool. But I don’t want to go Mama

MM: Why? (sits up in the dark)

Brat: Achcha nahi hai. Yeh school achcha nahi hai. Yahan sab gande hain. [Insert old school name here] mein jayenge. Yahan pe babies achche nahi hain. Aunty bhi achchi nahi hai. (No. I don’t want to go to this school. It’s not nice. The babies are not nice. The aunties are not nice. Everybody is bad. I want to go to my old school.)

Sigh. I don’t know what to do. He’s never not wanted to go to school before. I don’t want him going someplace he isn’t happy. I also spent half our year’s budget on this school. The OA is looking in the other direction since he insisted on this school. I’m not happy. I like being right, but I don’t like being right where my fears are concerned. I’d rather be wrong and see my baby happy.