The answer is YES! I miss my second month symptoms though. The complete aversion to food was a constant reminder of what was happening but that mess ended a while ago. Right now, I’m just having the time.of.my.life!
After installing the ‘what to expect’ app and joining the mommies-to-be community, I was convinced that we (the baby and I) are doing it all wrong because expecting mothers yammered about morning sickness, excess weight gain, cravings, how pregnancy feels like a breast implant they’ve been waiting for, why they hate their husbands, in-laws, parents and debate cloth diapers vs. regular diapers, boy vs. girl, breastfeeding woes and share gender reveal ultrasound pictures. (Eww! why would I want random strangers to see my baby’s private parts in utero?). Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually loving this pregnancy and my baby (for going easy on me) so, I restfully removed myself from the gabby community for both our sakes. Good grief! This mommy-abstractedness is repelling. I’m not saying all this is not important, but come on, we can all take a moment to actually try bonding with our babies instead of talking about it non-stop! No judgments here (okay maybe I am being a little judgmental, shoot me), but give it a break ladies. If this isn’t a good time to ‘live in the moment’, nothing else is.
I do enjoy talking about my shape-shifting personality occasionally. But, it’s not all about expressing, is it? Sure, I can always find someone to talk to, but discoursing the nitty-gritties alone does not make one feel included, cared for or loved. Not really.
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you all to my morning ritual. The alarm goes off, I wake up, take my meds and go back to bed. We keep the windows open now, so I hear the birds chirping in the background. I relocate closer to a snoring Murali, put my palm on my belly and listen. Listen to myself and to her. I close my eyes, imagine, dream and hope. Does she have my curls and dimples? Murali’s big eyes and long nose? Is my body really making this tiny human grow? I smile, even without trying and thank someone up there, despite the lack of belief. These few minutes with myself makes me feel like I’ve got this, if you know what I mean. Surely I’ll end up being ill-informed for I don’t fret about C-section or epidural, but I’m not trading these ten minutes for anything or anyone. Is it possible that I don’t want to be prepared because I’m not there yet? Maybe. Where I am at is beautiful though, magical even. And that is enough for now. Today, I am sharing my blood and gut with my baby, I’m making space for her growing body in mine and we are sharing everything – from spicy fried tofu to our deepest insecurities, both her and I, day and night. I know she’ll be all set to fly solo tomorrow, but at this very moment, we are relying on each other’s lives to sway back and forth, to flourish.
Never mind that Murali didn’t notice when my locks went four inches shorter but he has been calling me ‘pretty’ repeatedly which is very unlike him. The first time he said it, I responded bluntly, ‘Okay, what do you really want?’ but I’m slowly getting used to it. Truth be told? HE is making my metamorphosis look pretty (& easy) nudging me to stop and smell the roses every so often. He has taken up a vast majority of domestic responsibilities upon himself and pulling his share with dignity and love. I hurriedly get ready for work – Aloe gel, a stroke of kajal, orange lips and a drizzle of Chanel (my musts and only) and he casually walks into the room sipping his morning coffee. Then, he says it when I least expect it, ‘You look pretty today!’ every day. ‘May be you are glowing, I don’t know’, he adds and I beam, instantly. Modesty is not for mortals like me, so I accept his compliment wholeheartedly, ‘Yea I think I’m glowing too!’ I state as a matter-of-factly and kiss his coffee stained lips good day and head out to conquer the world… err… work.
We are traveling every weekend and come back home exhausted. Just the way I know how to live. For now, I’ll leave you all with childhood pictures of him and I, we were both under the age of one when these were taken. WARNING: ANY rude comment (make that any comment) about my hair will not be taken lightly. Thank you.
Had I known sooner just how much I would come to miss my room, my pillow, that rusty hand painted photo frame, my clunky old computer, never dissolving pile of laundry on my bed, arrested sunlight behind the spectral curtain, unsung ricocheting between four walls?
There is no other place like home I tell you. Murali and I lived like blissful new lovers for two weeks, without worrying about work, cooking or cleaning! I took long showers, wore short dresses, ate Jalebis to my hearts’ content and partied every other day.
I already smell it you know, the home made filter coffee and Avrekal Uppittu. I have this mental image of what my father’s expression’s going to be like when he opens the door to his Amrika daughter, rather naively. I don’t think I have it in me to hold my tears when I see him, but I shall try. The plan is to jump up and down, scream surprise!! Continue reading