What I'm missing the most these days

For the last 8 months, I have been deprived of some mundane daily pleasures that I never fully appreciated… until they were gone.Whether it's longing for a second cup of coffee or desperately missing skinny jeans, I am weighing in a few pre-pregnacy perks I plan to enjoy once the baby is born.

Being carefree, independent & unforgetful. I miss being the independent woman I had always been. People (esp the ones who care for me) won't let me do anything for myself. I can still do a lot of stuff – slowly, mind you! but I can still do it. I miss my mind. I can't remember things or be detail oriented. I forget everything and make really dumb errors now. I used to be extremely efficient but now I really feel I'm sluggishly inefficient. I don't feel as sharp or on the ball. And I forget a lot. The more 'ditzy' I feel, the more I feel like I'm less of a strong, smart, independent woman. My friends and family members want to help with everything when they come over. My mom makes me sit down while she cooks and even brings me food to last for atleast 2-3 weeks or atleast till her next visit. I hate doing chores, but I also feel stupid sitting there twiddling my fingers while my mother or the domestic help work around trying to make things easy for me. I also miss my independence. I need help moving objects around the house. I often need to ask for help doing things that used to be so easy. I miss dancing until I can't dance anymore. Now I can barely walk straight, only waddle.

Emotional Control. I miss my old attitude (because apparently this one is too soppy). Everything makes me cry – either happy tears or sad tears. I miss having control of my emotions. I'm so tired of breaking down over silly stuff (like over a book I read or even watching a movie I've watched so many times before...without crying). I'm nagging and a grumpy nervous freak, cranky, irritable and crying over every silly thing in the world. I'm so tired of being overly emotional like this but also can't seem to help it. I want my nonchalantly happy & carefree attitude back....soon.

Peaceful sleep. I miss sleeping on my back and stomach, not using the bathroom every hour or so. I miss sleeping a full night and getting out of bed without having to roll off. At 34 weeks, even sleeping on my side is impossible. I have to sleep sitting up at times, which makes dreams weirder and headaches are almost a given. Right now (4 weeks to go) I need to be surrounded by pillows to be comfortable for the few hours of sleep that I get. No comfortable sleeping position or even sleeping at all! A great night consists of two uninterrupted hours without any back or abdominal pain, and not getting out of bed at 5a.m. because I'm tired of just lying there trying to get some sleep. I can't seem to keep my eyes open past 10p.m. but once I fall asleep, it doesn't last long because I get these vicious kicks to the bladder from my diva in training. Maybe this is mother nature's way of preparing me for the baby's arrival and the night stay-ups to follow.

A normal sense of smell. Before, I think I had an average sense of smell, but now it's sharp. Like a diva, I've abruptly left restaurants because of a disturbing smell..esp of chicken or prawns. I used to love chicken and all kinds of non-veg food. But now I can't even bear the thought of chicken, let alone smelling or eating it. The super-sniffer has its not-so-good points, like being able to distinguish people's horrible body odour or stinky socks, even hours after they have gone. I earnestly hope to get back my normal sense of smell after my pregnancy ends.

Off-limit food. I've craved runny eggs so badly ever since becoming pregnant, I almost don't want to eat. For that matter, I even miss the sheer joy of eating. For my entire pregnancy, eating has been tainted by morning & evening sickness, followed by heartburn and indigestion. The biggest thing I look forward to after giving birth is eating loads of KFCs, unlimited slices of pepperoni pizza and lots of sunny-side-up poached eggs.

Caffeinating. The 3 Cs...Coke, coffee & chocolate… sweet Lord… I crave for them all the time. I occasionally drink a regular soda or have an occasional cuppa, but I'd like to drink more of them. And chocolates! I just can't have enough of them. I know they're bad, but I really miss them in my system way too much than ever before.

Wine & beer. I'm not a drinker in the least, but I miss my wine. After a long stressful day or with a really good meal, there's nothing like a nice glass of wine. And I miss beer too, when it's hot and humid out. I miss the taste of an ice-cold beer and being able to have one whenever I want... on my balcony on a nice warm day or before dinner, enjoying it while watching my favourite soap on tv. Guess, I still have a long time to go before laying my hands on a mug or a flute.

Sexy shoes. I really, really, really miss my collection of heels, fancy dressy shoes, sexy stilettoes and all the pretty shoes my usually tiny feet could fit into earlier. I'm so sick of practical (though comfy) walking shoes, and although I love my slip-ons and flat pumps, I'm sick of having to wear those too, almost at all times. My feet aren't swollen so much as puffy, so my feet don't look good in cute shoes. I'm sure my shoes and cute sandals all miss me too. And yeah, I also miss being able to tie my own shoes, that's why now its always strap-ons or slip-ons. Can't just wait to put my feet into a sexy pair of high-heels again.

Dressing up. The sexy diva doesn't look so sexy anymore with her belly wiggling and portruding and hair not so sleek and shiny. I miss getting my hair done! I miss being sexy, 'cause I don't feel that way very much. I'm huge and uncomfortable and I miss my cute outfits. I used to be quite proud of my super-toned pre-pregnancy body. I miss my cute little belly button and the naval piercing I had till a few days ago, but I eventually had to take off the ring once my naval started expanding and popping out. I miss my abs and oh! having adorably pedicured feet. Will I ever be able to wear my nice old clothes and shoes again?

And most of all, I miss My Husband. Ever since he visited me after 4 months of separation and left again for his post, I have been missing him even more than ever before. I miss being able to snuggle with my husband in bed and falling asleep holding him. All that I want is be with him again and be pampered by him like he did when he was here. I want him to be here with me at the time of the baby's arrival.

But all said and done, the love, pampering and attention I get, the anticipation of the baby's arrival and the sheer joy of feeling the baby move inside me... that is all which takes to keep me going and I wouldn't trade this phase for anything else in the whole wide world.

My Valentine!

My baby, you're not out in this world yet,
We've seen you in the ultrasound, though never in person met.
My world changed forever the day you were conceived
Your heartbeat takes me to the reality of what I've achieved.
Seen all the tiny toes in both your feet
Just can't wait till the day we meet.
Seen your eyes, nose and also your mouth
I think you have a lovely little pout.
Seen your arms, legs and belly too
Barely 2 more months until you're due.
Darling, you're connected with my umbilical cord
But the way you lie in there, I feel you're really bored.
Heard the sound of your heart beating so fast
I'm really getting impatient now, till I get to hold you at last.
Soon will come the day when I'll hold you in my arms,
Hoping to protect you from every harm.
I feel ecstatic when you move inside the womb of mine
This time o' little one, I take you as my Valentine!
As you grow with lightning speed, I'm treasuring each day
Promising to myself, I'll give you a rainbow even when the sky is dull & grey.

CRAZY NO MORE...

I was in my usual bind when New Year’s Eve came around. It was time to assess the past year and, if there was something I felt needed improvement, to resolve to do better. The familiar candidates came to mind: travel a lot, paint, cook passionately, laugh more, break more rules and try to be more organized. In short, I'd promise to live my usual crazy life acting on impulse at every step... do stuff I'm really passionate about... speak my mind out... the works. They sound familiar because each year I make almost the same resolutions and each year I'd follow some and break some. With 1 year of marriage, 4 station changes and 9 months of wait for a family quarter, our stuff is still in a chaotic state, I am still waiting for some help from husband's unit to come over and unpack our household belongings, and the very thought of organising our quarter to give it a 'home' feel and look, has become a dirty thought. Living out of a suitcase in every destination we changed for the last 9 months, my 'own space' currently at my parents' house has become a testament to chaos and craziness. There are piles of books on my computer desk and some more scattered on the bed. The computer chair I placed near the desktop table for reading and typing or for the convenience of an occasional guest, is usually used as my clothes-stand. Sometimes, its more of a magazine rack, laden with so many back issues there is no room to actually sit on it to read. So much that visiting friends/relatives sometimes have to sit on my bed when I don't get a prior notice to clear the chair of clothes or magazines. It isn’t pretty. I assured myself I could—and would—finally clear it up… starting today. Or maybe tomorrow(?!). I would make my resolution to be very neat and organised wherever I am and stick to it! But first I needed to go to the market before it closed for the evening, to pick up a birthday gift for my little cousin. Then on to the cleaners. The carpenter would arrive post lunch to make modifications to my old book-rack and frame an oil painting I had made. I also promised I would meet my friends later in the evening. And somewhere in there I had to make time to work on a writing assignment I had accepted and whose deadline was racing uncomfortably close.

By the time I returned home from the market, I barely had time to put everything away before getting dressed for the evening. My husband reached to celebrate New Year's eve with me and we were going out first for the birthday dinner at my cousin's, then meeting up with close friends to celebrate New Year's eve.
“Let’s go,” he calls after getting ready around 9-ish. “It’s getting late.”

I leave a cascade of tried and discarded outfits on my bed and rush out with him to my uncle's. We have a great family time there and since we can't manage to get an available cab service with a driver who agrees to take us around town, party-hopping after 9pm, we cancel the plan of meeting up with friends for tonight. Nonetheless, we have an amazingly awesome 'family time' with good food, laughter and happiness. We come home a little after midnight. I am too tired to fold and put the pile of unworn clothes away, so I dump them onto the 'chair' at the foot of the bed, toss the bedspread over them, and crawl under the covers with a warm and snuggly hubby. We fall asleep almost instantly.

In the morning, on the first day of the New Year 2011, I know I am already in trouble. I take out my journal and write the almost familiar 11 resolutions (11, since its 2011)...

1. I will keep my space sparkling clean, no matter wherever I live.

2. I will travel more with or without the husband.

3. I will get more organized and follow a routine.

4. I will stop putting off things for later if I could finish them much earlier.

5. I will get a new job before the year ends.

6. I will spend less on shoes, clothes and perfumes.

7. I will watch more movies.

8. I will paint a lot.

9. I will start writing a book.

10.I will never compromise/sacrifice on anything my heart really wants.

11.I will continue to be my crazy self whether someone likes it or not.
 

I ponder over these written words, though, I am almost certain I would break most or all of them. I close the journal. What is the use? I am overwhelmed by the resolutions and I almost never follow them. It is too hard to stick to some of your old habits when you have new people, new committments and new relationships in your life. I go downstairs to my mom's kitchen and making 2 strong cups of tea for hubby and me, bring them upstairs in a thermos. Hubby is still snoring away, smiling ocassionally at me opening a squinty eye, then drifting back to his lazy morning slumber tucked under the cozy mink blanket.

I pour myself a cup of steaming tea and sipping on it, take a look at my resolutions jotted down neatly. I resent the pattern I have created for myself, yet can’t see my way out of it. In my guilt-ridden wanderings around the room, I brush against the chair and some of the clothes fall to the floor. As I bend down slowly to pick them up, underneath the computer table, I see a book I had recently bought at the book fair. It is a 'how-to' book on getting organized. I had bought it thinking I would get around to reading it, but not surprisingly, I put it off and was slowly beginning to forget about it. Now I suddenly can't wait to read it. It helps me see that I don’t need to do it all immediately... that I can prioritise things in my life depending on their changing importance. I can tackle one small thing at a time. I can make a schedule and follow it. I can start slowly. I can do one project each day instead of trying to do it all at once. I finally conclude I can break the pattern.

Our baby moves in my womb.

“I’m sorry,” I tell baby. “How could I have forgotten you all this while? You are now the first priority in my life. I love you so much.”

And then it strikes me all at once and everything suddenly becomes so clear. I know what I should do. I grab my journal and cross out what I have written before. Then I write my resolution for this year... not eleven, not ten, but one resolution.

My only resolution this year is to be a responsible person. A responsible wife, a responsible mother, a responsible daughter and that means I'd be CRAZY NO MORE.

A very happy and prosperous New Year 2011 to one and all.

Jus' lyin' around doin' nothin'

Just as my husband dropped me at my hometown Guwahati, preparing to leave for his new location further ahead in the northeast, I was not too sad this time. I had fancy plans of taking up a job here to keep myself occupied. But not before long, we discovered to our utter joy that the stork would be visiting us in another 9 months. So hubby left for his new location leaving me in the custody of my parents and requesting me to not even think about taking up a job till I completed my first trimester.

Though I took his advise quite casually and continued my search for a job, to my horror I found out that no organisation is ready to employ a candidate who has recently conceived. My immediate reactions on being rejected by good companies on such a ground, ranged from disappointment, shock and surprise to plain outrage. My husband, parents and ma-in-law were clearly upset with me even for taking up those odd freelance assignments which helped me keep myself busy. So finally I had to put aside all doubts and misgivings and decided stay at home, after all.

As I entered my second trimester, my doctor saw that there was some forthcoming complication because I was not taking adequate rest and recommended a total bedrest for an entire month. This time I had no choice to even try something creative online. I was asked to lie down in bed at all times and could get up only to eat or to go to the bathroom. Till a year ago, while I was still in a hectic fulltime job, I would have loved to be in such a situation where I was recommended a 'forced' bedrest. But now, since I had nothing much to do anyway and no job whatsoever, I knew that I could only keep myself sane if I kept myself intellectually satisfied and creatively occupied. So, the first thing I did was that I asked my husband to somehow manage to send me all the unread books that were lying with him in his boxes. Also, I asked my friends, cousins and parents to get me all the books that I had on my 'to-buy' list. And day by day, as I lay in bed recovering, I devoured history, poetry, gossip and all the latest bestsellers. I had ample time on my hands to go through every detail of the daily newspapers and read Femina, Good-housekeeping, Cosmopolitan and Outlook Traveller, cover to cover at one go.

My dad fixed a portable tv in my room, so when I got bored of all the reading, I switched on to my favourite programmes on the tele. I was never much of a tv-person. But now I discovered quite some good and useful programmes that are shown on the tv.

Sometimes my old friends in town would pay me a visit and make me laugh and feel good. My closest girlfriend in town would come and visit me, her baby in tow and while both of us chatted away to glory, laughing and bitching and filling our hearts with small passionate girlie-gossip, her daughter would play by my side on my bed, allowing me the pleasure of consuming her delicious smell of milk-n-baby powder. That has such a healing power in itself, its amazing. My best friend would call up from Delhi and fill me up with all the gory details of her metro life, making sure I was not missing even a single bit of the spice in her life that I used to once share. My sister and another dear friend from Mumbai would call up and spend long hours with me on the phone regularly, leaving me smiling and with a happy heart. My ma would cook up the most simplest yet delicious food that I'd be craving for and my dad took care of all my doctor visits, reports, medicines and injections that was prescribed for me. Ma and I would have long conversations usually before or after lunch, when she'd manage to get some free time after all the household chores. They are such energy boosters for me to drag through the days. Sometimes my cousins and relatives would drop by and say hello to me, since I could not go out anywhere.

Apart from the entertainment and social interaction, I thoroughly enjoyed these people visiting me as each of them had to offer something valuable and special in their own unique way and each of them taught me something in return. While someone gave me tips on what kind of soothing music to listen to, someone else would advice me to wear very loose fitting clothes for easy comfort and breathing. Someone would give me invaluable tips on childcare while others would chalk down lists for me on what to eat and what not to eat.

After completing a month in bed, dreaming, consuming knowledge, entertainment and soulful music, I have started writing more regularly now. And held my paintbrush in my hand after almost 9 months.

Though I miss my husband terribly and long to see him and be with him, yet I have so many things and people around me to make me constantly feel pampered as a queen. Now, I can only smile because hey, just lying around doing nothing has been a great learning experience and a very well enjoyable one as well. Can't just wait for motherhood now :-)

MA...

Once upon a time she was a bubbly pampered sister of three elder brothers, who loved handiwork, going to movies, dressing up, painting, playing pranks and her cats. And then she got married to become a wife at 18. Then one day she had ME and became a mother at 20. A few years later, she eventually had my two younger sisters and added to the list of things she previously was. She became a cook, a dresser, a wiper of our dirty faces, a cleaner of our soiled diapers, a nurse when we were ill, a retriever of thrown socks and uniforms, a finder of our lost shoes, a doer of our homework we couldn’t complete, an insomniac. She was a referee in our toy-wars, a slayer of dragons in our nightmares, the face of angels in all those fairy-tale bed-time stories that she’d read out to us every night before tucking us in bed to sleep. She was the expert innovative chef who had to come up with 1001 tiffin-recipes which could not be repeated very often, a duty-bound guard who would walk us to school and bring us back home, holding the umbrellas to protect us from the sun or the rains and sometimes even carry one of my sisters who would get tired walking. She was a soother of nervous school jitters, a coach to prepare us for our tests and exams, a strict (hate-able) character when we scored poor marks, an adorable rewarder when we passed with flying colors and a sporty leader of girl-scouts.

With each passing day, her talents grew: she became a baker of delicious cakes and cookies, a hygienic competitor of the dirty roadside chaat-wala, an ice-cream vendor who distributed popsicles and ‘milkmaid-kulfis’ not only to us but to all our neighborhood playmates absolutely free-of-cost. She learnt to sew prize-winning costumes for our fancy-dress competitions, compose the best school essays which would score us maximum marks in the whole class, come up with the best ideas for our science exhibition projects and embroider the most beautiful motifs for our hand-work assignments. She would be my transporter, guide and motivator for all those numerous art-competitions that I participated in as a child.

Her body, once which was her own to do with it as she pleased, now belonged to us—she ate for ‘us’ when she was carrying us in her womb, her breasts were the only source of food or life we recognized as infants, her shoulders were used by us to cry upon, her arms to be hugged by whenever we needed her warmth and security, and her lap for us to sit and cuddle upon. Her lips became the kissers and soothers for all our unstoppable boo-hoos and tears, her hips were the carrier of our small, squirmy bundles and her hands our cradle.
She could braid or tie-up our hair in the time most people could only manage to wash their faces. She could bathe, dress, feed and get all the three of us ready for school in half-an-hour flat. And she could smile for us even when she didn’t actually feel like. Her feet were used to walk the house with us in her arms at any hour of the night, if either one of us had a difficult time sleeping due to illness or nightmares. And as we were growing up, she even grew eyes in the back of her head and her hearing became supersonic--lest we should fall into wrong things or wrong people at a wrong age.

Her parents had named her ‘Mina’. Then as she became a mother she had as many aliases as a conman. She became—at various times—Mm, Ma, Ma-ma, Mom, Mommy, Mummy, Mum, Mina-ma (I used to call her that, as if to distinguish her as the special one of the various other moms in the neighborhood, she recalls) and for a brief period of her mental vexation, ‘Mins’ (when we called her that teasingly).

Her free time which might have once been occupied to do things of her interest, were now used to tidy the disorderly jumble of our toys, books, empty chips packets, used plates, empty cans of cold-drinks, a carpet of clutter and chaos and a dwelling of disarray.

Her mind which might have once flourished with egocentric thoughts, were sometimes filled with irrational ideations: “What if they fall out of the bed while I’m in the kitchen?” “What if they choke on their food?” “How safe would they be to get back home after dark from their friends’ birthday party?” “What if they choose the wrong guys as their boyfriends or to get married to?” “Did I say anything to hurt my darlings?” “Am I a good mother?” “How will I know if I’m falling short of anything in bringing them up?” etc… These were some of her insecurities I would overhear her sharing with Dad, once in a while when he was home (my dad had to travel a lot due to the nature of his job and he was hardly home till we grew up).

But for us three sisters, my Ma has been and always will be our ideal icon… even more important and loveable than God himself, coz she’d done something nobody else had ever done for us… accomplished a feat so death-defying and magical that many wouldn’t even attempt doing. She’s the one and only form, face, smell and name of pure and unselfish love I’d ever known. She’s my Ma….