Nanny travails

So now I'm trying to wean little Ms R onto a maid, brought in for the purpose of catering exclusively to R. Of course, as luck and fate have it, she hates the sight of her maid, preferring to smile toothlessly at the cook and other help, completely ignoring her own nanny. Maybe because she reads the sweetly-false voice of her nanny too well? Or maybe because it's an unfamiliar hand over her mom's- which she's had sole right to, for the past eight months? So it's back to rocking till my back feels numb, losing whatever vestige of sleep creeps in at odd hours, yet being thankful for her in my life.

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In the depths of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer- Albert Camus

Why

Why do you hurt me so much Why is there blood running down my eyes instead of tears Why do you pick at the scabs of scars And refuse to go? Why do you make me cry each night Why is it so long since I've had a smile on my face Why does each day seem like a bother This life a burden Why does my heart still beat Why do the pieces stick back together All I want right now is to just fall asleep And stay asleep.

When the heart cries...

When the heart cries Do the tears fall down or within Is the echo heard soft or clear When the heart cries Does it erase everything dear? Do the bruises take forever to heal The scars an eternity to mend Your lips, they are- a forever sealed Destiny, fate, karma- we all must bend  When the heart cries Who hears it so When the heart cries Why must it be so...

Vive lè greeting cards!

Just the other day as I was brushing my teeth, I remembered an obscure aunt's postal address- word for word, pincode et al. Result of sending new year greeting cards year after year- for maybe ten-fifteen years in a row?  I remember the excitement around the New year. It started from the first week of December when my sister and I would decide (rather fight) on the theme for that year's cards. Often I won, not because I was older and my mum entrusted this responsibility to me, but because my sister's themes were downright baby-ish and immature. The task of getting the card supplies would be accomplished next. Shiny card paper, new brushes and paints were always required each year. With great excitement we'd start off- the first batch of five, ten cards would turn out super and after that both my sister and I would invariably fight and it would end in either the remainder of the cards being bought from CRY or HelpAge or Archies or yours truly struggling to fill up the quota by sketching at midnight. A parallel task would be to organise mailing lists. Great importance would be given to reciprocation (why send a card to great Aunt Meera when she hasn't sent us one for two years now?) and condescension (come on, poor lady will cheer up on seeing your card). In the end, we'd sort about fifty- seventy five odd recipients. Then came the onerous task of slotting the correct postal addresses. Since there was no google in those days, the ol trusted thumbed down government diary would be dug out to confirm the pin codes. Dad would be chided for not buying the correct denomination of postage stamps and Mum would fume about the delays in posting them (those were the days when all of us relied on that relic of a post office and kept them darned busy). Once the cards had been sent, we'd eagerly await the arrival of other relatives' cards. Those, and Dad's colleagues cards would be strung up in the living room- giving such a bright and jovial farewell to the old year. We welcomed the new year in style! Sadly, no one sends greeting cards anymore. SMS and e-greetings and phone calls have all chased the humble card to a precipitous death. The greeting card is dead. Long live the greeting card!

First borns

There will be more children after Raania but there's something so magical about first borns.  They arrive all swaddled - a gift from God, and like a tiny puzzle, you try to decipher the meaning of their cries and feel elated when the result is a content baby. They reinforce your faith in life and give you a reason to live again. They recreate the reality of dreams and gift you the opportunity to dream further.  They keep you alert- with the second-born you aren't as scared/ hyper as you were earlier. With the second baby, you know what to expect so that takes away the thrill of discovery that greets you everyday with your first born. Of course, first borns are also more loved (I would know, being one myself)- being the sole recipient of their parents' love for the first few years of their lives. But all this love and democracy with the parents translates into a heap of responsibility on the first-born's shoulder- to take care of the parents when old and to love the siblings unconditionally. But, nothing can compare with the aristocracy of arriving first into your parents' lives!!

60/ 24/ 7

Mothering isn't a full time job. It's not even a job. It's a state of mind which consumes you all 60 seconds to the hour, all 24 hours in a day, all 7 days of the week. There's not a single second in which I don't think of my first and best love- my most prized creation till date- my sweet seven month old daughter. So much so, that even my husband, a self- confessed obsessive-to-the-point-of-ridiculous father says i am an obsessive mom.  Why wouldn't I be? I've asked for this tiny curly-eyelashed, sweet-fisted, plump-cheeked cherub from God. Why shouldn't i obsess over her? Attend to each whimper of hers with lightning fast speed? Not let her cry even for a second? Feel guilty when she doesn't eat? I didn't make her so I could mistreat her. I made her cause I loved her even before she was born. My small miracle from God. Raania. And about the state of mind- well- comes with the territory!