Here's what today's in-house yoga session looked like!

Just like any other new mom, I barely have time to myself.

Having a shower that allows me to wash the soap off my body is a luxury, and so is having lunch, especially one that isn't interrupted by little P's poop time.

It's a thing with these babies, I tell ya! They can sense when their mommies sit down to eat, and POP, there you go! IT'S FUN TIME!

Cleaning a toddler is an amazing test of your patience. For some beautiful reason, they hate being cleaned. God only knows what they like about running around with a bottom that stinks and isn't washed. My god, the glee on their face is unmatched!

New moms, especially ones like me, also barely find the time to exercise. EXERCISE?! WASSAT YOU SAY?!

ME NO EXERCISE. ME ONLY EAT!

The fantastic thing about being a mom to a toddler is that you don't have to take out time to exercise! The constant running behind them sure burns a lot of calories. Not just that, there are a lot of other exercises you didn't know you could do, during your time running around like a screaming gorilla behind your little tyke.

Here's what my today's yoga session looked like. Pay attention, ladies, I got in some serious workout today!

1) CARDIO: ran behind little P post breakfast, all the way from the balcony to the washroom and back, just to clean his tush. Ours is a somewhat big place compared to the rest of Mumbai, and that's only because we live 15,000 kms away from downtown Mumbai and take 1 week to reach there. Or at least, that's what it feels like!

2) ARMS, WITH WEIGHTS: Lifted little P, who's a tad bit over 9 kgs, all the way to the bathroom to get him to bathe. Once done, lifted him out again, to a warm bedroom to wipe him. He has this habit of running out of the bathroom naked, all wet, and slippery and shedding water like a dog. Runs out all the way to the balcony, to show the world that he's had a shower and the 30 kgs of dirt that he had beneath his finger nails and under his neck is now clean. Only to get dirty 20 seconds later.

3) SIT UPS, IN TWO SETS OF 20: Giving a bath to little P is no mean task. He loves having one, only and only if the water is running, because, what do you know, he's a Bollywood heroine who loves splashing in water in a transparent chiffon saree!

So, the task involves setting up a pail full of water for him to play with, while I sit down and stand back up again pouring mugs full of water over his body and attempt to bathe him. I am not too sure how successful I am in doing this, because he does look clean for a couple of seconds.

4) AQUA AEROBICS: In the bath, it is a ritual of sorts to dance and shake to some weird nursery rhyme, because, apparently, I look entertaining while doing this, especially, in the bath!

So, while The Lord of the Bathroom, little P, attempts to himself pour water over himself, I have to shake my booty to "I am a little teapot, short and stout". The poor fellow doesn't know that I do look like a teapot dancing like this in the bathroom.

I am somewhere scared that I am ruining him for life and scarring him, but I can't help it, because it allows me to give him a bath every day. Else, it's like being a mommy to a little piggy OINK OINK!

5) LUNGES; Potty time is exercise time. That is, his potty time is my exercise time, just to be clear!

My one hand is on his bottom, other on him, trying to hold him and keep him in place. One leg is pushed backwards, trying to keep my balance, because we are doing this suspended mid air. The other leg, is somehow keeping a firm grip on a packet of wet wipes, lest the little monkey grab it out of my hands and run amok with a dirty bottom all around the face and plant his bottom on the sofa!

6) THIGH BUTTERFLY: Nap times remind me of the World War. Only the guns and cannons are missing, though their sound isn't. Because a tired, screaming toddler is capable of screaming louder than the combined sounds of those two!

So, in order to get him to sleep, that is, when he isn't being fed to sleep, he needs to be rocked whilst being cradled. Bless my thunder thighs, that can take his weight and constantly rock for an eternity. At the same time, I get in some quick exercise for my arms too, because juggling him when he fights his sleep is a scene you don't want to miss! He will throw himself backwards, arch his back, head butt you, kick the crap out of your sensitive body parts, but you have to hold onto him, in case he injures himself, or worst, falls off the bed.

7) SOME MORE THIGH STRETCHES: I don't let go of my habit to exercise while sleeping during the night, as well. My little P likes to rest his legs ON SOMEBODY, because, you know, he was a maharaja in his previous life and is used to such lavish luxuries. He has one person on night time duty sleep next to him in such a manner, so that The Lord of Night Time Kicks CAN REST BOTH HIS LEGS ON MINE.

Therefore, every night, all night, I sleep with my legs extended all the way to the moon and back, just so he can sleep peacefully. And, who said they pain in the morning?! Oh no, there isn't an iota of pain!

8) DESI-STYLE ZUMBA: We spend our post lunch time doing desi-style zumba. Yep, we have to burn those calories that we didn't consume you see! because, while mommy was trying to eat, I did some poop-poop. And, once she was done cleaning me, she said she was in no mood to go back to her boring lunch, because mine was such a sight! She is so sweet, I love her!!!

And, so, I make her dance, all bhangra and hiphop and bootyshake, either to some weird Punjabi song that she repeatedly plays for me, or my favorite nursery rhyme! It doesn't matter, she still looks so cute and so funny, trying to move with so much fat on her, just like a mamma elephant!

Sometimes, just to add to her workout, I cry and cry and make cute faces, just so that she can pick me up and dance WHILE CARRYING ME! It's so much fun, I tell you! I know it's fun, because she makes really tragic faces and sweats a lot.

MY MOMMY IS THE BEST!

As a mom, it's my job to care.

I once read this somewhere and it so beautifully described motherhood in such a small sentence. It read:

Being a mom is knowing what it's like to have your heart walk outside of your body for the rest of your life.

It's so excruciatingly honest, it hurts!

That's what it feels like, having your heart outside of you, when your baby takes his first steps, and falls. That's heartbreak, not when your boyfriend doesn't call. That pain doesn't even come close to the pain you feel when "something" happens to the little being that was inside of you for so long, and is now out, and is so happy in his new-found freedom.

Being a mom isn't easy. Not in the I-haven't-brushed-my-teeth-or-hair in-days kind of hardship, but the hardship and difficulty in accepting that things are going to happen to your child, things that will be out of your control. That's the difficult part.

I don't care about the knotty hair and the yellow teeth and the age-old PJs and the stinking-of-milk lingerie. NO

I care about what happens to my child when he is out of my earshot and eyesight.

Here are a few things that make motherhood difficult and bother the first time new mom in me. Maybe I will be less finicky next around, if there ever will be a next time! Maybe, I won't! I don't know,

But, right now, in this moment, I do care what happens to him. It's my job to care, and it will be my job till the time he can grow up to defend himself. Till then, I am his voice, I am his strength, I am his will power, and I am his protector.

1) It bothers me that if, for reasons out of my control, I am unable to give him food, he doesn't eat well. He doesn't even eat half the amount that he eats when I feed him.

And, I am not even a forceful YOU HAVE TO EAT kind of mom! If he turns his face away, I back off. But, I do innovate in my style of getting him to eat his usual quantity.

Whether it is getting him to sit in his booster seat and pretend feed the seat itself, or sit atop the kitchen table top and play with pots and pans and feed them. Or even stand in the open balcony and pretend feed all the crows and the cars around us; I do put in time and effort.

2) It bothers me that he "doesn't allow"anybody else to pop his diaper on. Yes, he is a toddler and we do our hands full with him, but, it's his "job" to monkey around and putting a diaper on is an obstacle in his monkey business. And, so, he runs away from it, and I run behind him, Up and down the house, once. SOMETIMES TWICE.

Sometimes, I end up popping it on while he's standing, because that's how he will allow me to do so. But, I don't give in or blame him for being a toddler.

3) It bothers me that when I am out of earshot, he gets scolded. It really rattles me. In fact, it shakes me to inexplicable anger.

4) Similarly, it really really bothers me when this is done in the name of "teaching him".

5) Even more so, when, in the name of "love" he gets smacked on his bottom. I am sorry, that's my child you are laying YOUR HANDS ON.

No matter what, I will not accept it. There can be no reason for it. Not happening.

6) It is even more worrying when he walks around with a dirt bottom at times, despite him being "cleaned" because he ran away from the task.

7) It's not cool to tell me what to do with my own child. I don't need your lessons on how to oil his hair and when to oil his hair. I want to do it my way, learn it my way as we go along and make mistakes, yet, get up and shrug it off, and walk off.

I might not know what I am doing, and I am fine with it. I know when he needs a bath, or when he doesn't. In the same way, I know when to put him to sleep, and I will definitely not be waking him up just because you think I should.

He will wake up of his own accord and that's fine be me.

8) It bothers me that you sometimes pretend that he's your child and you can do whatever the heck you can with him.

I am sorry, was it you who gave your womb on rent for nine months and your boobs for 15 months and counting? No, right? So, back off and let me mommy him.

SERIOUSLY?! I MEAN, SERIOUSLY?!

Confessions of a lazy mom!

I was never a lazy person. NEVER. N.E.V.E.R.

I am a Type A personality,a go-getter, an achiever.

I used to be up as soon as the damn alarm would go off. 7 am meant exactly that, 7 am, not 7.05 am.

And, then, motherhood happened, Little P came along and all the alarms of the world could now unite and ring at the same time, but I doubt I would wake up. I am that sleep deprived!

I don't know when the night ends and morning takes over, when day 1 turns into 3, and when Monday is suddenly Friday!

The only date I remember is the 23rd, because that's the date little P was born, and I remember Thursdays, because, correctomundo, it was a Thursday.

So, every week, like clock work, I know how many weeks old he is and every month, I remember the 23rd from those many months and weeks ago with a warm smile on my face.

Everything else is hazy, it comes and goes in fast motion and I wonder where time went.

Is it 11 am already?!

What?! It's 9 pm?! Where did the rest of the day go?

All day, I run, my big bums and me, behind the little toddler monster that little P is. Behind closets, and doors, and on patios, and terrace pedestals. He runs and I manage to run. I do all this running, yet, I think I am lazy.

Here's why:

1) I am too lazy to wake up and make my own bed tea. I just can't, especially after having 4-5 wake ups every night, the thought of making MY OWN BED TEA makes me shed tears. Real tears, and not the ones that little P sheds when I go to the loo!

2) I am too lazy to have a leisurely bath. It's always a quick 2 minute shower, unless I have to shampoo my butt-long tresses, when it's probably 10 minutes.

Okay, fine. even that is usually over in 5 minutes.

But, that's ONLY because the bathroom is constantly banged the crap out of by little P, who thinks that there's a secret tunnel inside the WC, from I can escape, to a land where I can brush my hair every day.

3) I am too lazy to upgrade (in style) and downgrade (in size) my lingerie. I just won't, even though it's just a click away. Uhuh, not happening!

4) I am too lazy to heat my own food, if it's not been heated before I sit down to eat. So, I just happily eat cold dal and my special COMPLEX CARBOHYDRATE roti, which I stuff down my throat, because I need to lose another 15 kgs.

5) AAH, THE WEIGHT! I am too lazy to buy new clothes, even though I have lost 15 kgs. And, that's most of my pregnancy weight. The rest is because I am a fat person, and weight loss would do me a world of good.

I refuse to buy them online, because the size I have to look for is quite depressing, and there are horrible options for that size.

I refuse to set foot into a store, because I am too lazy to try those new clothes, because, HEY! nothing would fit!

6) Everyday, I promise myself, that today, I will not let washed clothes pile up, and I will promptly fold them and put them where they belong.

But, the damn pile has wings! It grows every day! Does it not know that I am lazy?! That, I have the intention to clean it, but I keep pushing it, till it grows to a mile high and I feel like crying!

7) My PJs are crying, because, hey, they need to be trashed and I need new ones, but aaha, I am too lazy! And they are too comfy!

8) I am so lazy, and so hungry when I wake up in the mornings, that most of the time, I end up eating without giving my pearly yellows (not whites!) a good brush.

Yup, that's me. I hate brushing my teeth. Actually, come to think of it, I hate brushing, period! (hair included)

9) I am too lazy to dress up every day and go out and get some fresh air. I do go out every day, not for myself, but for little P. But, I always go back to my favorite track pants and a tee that make me look slim!

10) The house needs to be looked after, the spiders are calling me from their new homes on my walls. But, I get so exhausted after a day full of running, that I think spiders might just end up becoming a new addition to the family now!

Oh, yes, I am lazy. Little P will agree!

Top 10 excuses a new mom uses, to NOT have sex!!!

Having a baby is a funny thing. Not funny haha, but more like, sad funny, if you know what I mean...

The one act needed to have a baby is the act of having sex, and yet, the moment the baby is born, that's the very act that goes out the window! kaboom!

NO SEX FOR YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES!

I mean, seriously, first, the emotions are way too much and get in the way of every thing. Then, the feeding, and the constant pooping and peeing that take up so much time, that there's no time for any thing else!

And, even if one did have the time, who has the inclination?!

If you have had a cesarean, then most doctors ask you to take it easy for at least 2 months.

And, of course, this is India, where nobody, and I really mean nobody, has sex after they get pregnant. Women are promptly packed off to their mothers', lest their increased level of hormones get better of their brains and their libidos!

In the early days, I would constantly either smell of stale and sour milk, or poop, or pee, or even vomit. After a while, I just stopped bothering, and at times, I am sure I forgot to change as well!

And nobody wants to have sex with you if you stink of any of those things!

Here are top 10 reasons a new mom gives to not have sex:

1) Not tonight love, I just gave birth (a few weeks after the birth).

2) The baby didn't sleep all day. Or night. Therefore, neither could I. Hence, I am sleepless. And tired. So don't even bother asking me. Now, go sleep!

3) The baby didn't feed well today. I am feeling very upset! How can you even think of sex when your own child hasn't eaten all day?!

4) The baby fed TOO MUCH today! I am exhausted! Do you have any idea what's it like to have a baby attached to your boobs ALL DAY?! Of course not, you don't have boobs! Now, go sleep and take that hand OFF ME!

5) You know that baby from the next building? He's too unwell. I got extremely emotional seeing him. My hormones are all over the place! sob sob! I can't get in the mood feeling like this! How can you be so void of feelings?!

6) The baby is 3 weeks, 1 day, 2 hours and 35 seconds old! Look, how time has flown by! It's time to celebrate our bundle tonight! Let's NOT HAVE SEX and just cuddle and look at our wonderful creation sleep peacefully!

7) Your mom just phoned me to give me wonderful advice on how to bring up MY BABY!!! #&$(%(%&%&# YOU KNOW YOU AREN'T GETTING ANY, DONTCHA?!

8) I had a huge fight with my mom today! I am feeling very emotional! Don't even bother looking at me, okay?!

9) Not tonight darling, I just gave birth! (3 months later)

10) WHAT?! Have sex on the same bed where OUR OWN baby is asleep?! What if he wakes up and sees us?! He will be scarred for life! And, we definitely can't have sex once he's up!

I have LOTS MORE up my sleeve. Those shall be saved for rainy days! ;)

DISCLAIMER: I am not saying I used any or all of these, that's giving away too much information! And a lot of you know way too much about me already!

Also, if any of your wives or girlfriends use any of these excuses, then thou shall not blame me!

Why are women their own worst enemies?

Seriously, why are we our own worst enemies?

What is it with women not being able to stand another's happiness and gloating in the latter's tragedy?

Your "best friend" put on some weight? Aaha, time to celebrate with some wine, eh? After all, wine isn't one known to add to the pounds!

I have always had a battle with the bulge. Partly, it is the genes, partly, it is me. Okay, fine, a large part is me!

Even as a child, I was known to be the fattest one amongst all the cousins, and the Bengali ones smugly blamed the Sindhi side of me. Whatever made them happy!

Ditto, as a teenager, and then a working professional in my early twenties. It wasn't until I got married and moved cities, and actually, finally started eating right, that the weight began to drop. but then I got pregnant! HA!

Any how...

Why do we women make such derogatory, frivolous comments about our friends and acquaintances when they pile on the pounds?

This habit takes on epic proportions once we give birth. Giving birth is a blessing, and only we women can enjoy this, and I don't mean this in a sexist way.

It's just how nature meant it to be, and there's nothing we can do about it. Our bodies carry another person for 3 months short of a year, so is it not acceptable that there will be extra kilos, even after the exit of this little person?

Post partum fat isn't easy to get rid of. Some have it very lucky, Others, like yours truly, continue with the battle.

For some, breast feeding helps knock off the kilos, for others, it doesn't. A lot of women, in fact, tend to add on whilst breast feeding.

Does my weight bother you? I wouldn't think so!

Does it bother you that I eat like a pig? Or that I look like one?

If it does, then I have a simple solution for you: DON'T BOTHER BEING FRIENDS WITH ME! IT'S THAT SIMPLE!

Nobody needs judgemental people in their lives, least of all a new mom, who has her own emotional baggage to deal with. Her post partum weight gain is nobody's concern, except maybe her doctor.

Here, I recall such some very beautiful comments I have received ever since I gave birth to little P.

For the sake of not wanting to hurt anybody, I will try and refrain from being too specific, even though, I was horribly hurt when these comments were thrown at me.

Acquaintance 1: It doesn't look like you've lost weight! I wouldn't know, if you hadn't told me!

Then, touching my breasts... YES, she actually did that... it's these boobs, I tell you. They are
too big!

Err, okay, thank you, "FRIEND", for touching me inappropriately and then calling me fat in a nice way.

Acquaintance 2 (In a text message): Hey, fatso! what's up? How's are fat mommsy and baby doing?

Umm, not much. Just thinking of how to appropriately get back at you without being a complete B**CH and ruining our "friendship".

Somebody from the In-laws: Oh wow! She's become SO FAT! WOW, I MEAN SO FAT!

Hey, thanks, you really really mean and nasty person with no feelings whatsoever! May you drown and die in coconut chutney!!!

Somebody from MY SIDE!: How come you've put on so much weight?! Is something wrong?!

Yes, something is indeed "wrong"! I just gave birth! To a baby. not a bag of chips, you moron!

Somebody from the extended family: Why did you allow yourself to be SO FAT?! Oh, c'mon! Don't blame the breastfeeding and cesarean!

Hey, aunty! Isn't your own daughter like really really fat?! I mean sooper, dooper, really really sooper dooper fat?! For, like a century, even though she didn't breastfeed?

Fat aunty in the neighborhood: OH MY GOD! In real aunty-who-watches-too-many-TV serials-style: you've become so fat!!!

Yes, aunty! It's a shame that even though you've been walking in this very park for a zillion years, you seemed to have not shed a single gram. DITTO, YOUR VERY OWN DAUGHTER!

Friend: Oh, don't worry. I was also fat after the baby. I mean, I wasn't THIS FAT! NONO! I was 60 kgs, you know! OMG!

Me: Do I know you, you nasty woman with great genes?!

Confessions of a tired mommy - Part I

Hello, my name is mommy.

I am a fat, tired and sleep deprived mom to a little monster named little P, who is now 15 months old.

I am a new mom. All this mommyhood stuff is new to me. I have taken care of babies before, and by taking care, I don't mean cuddled them and kissed them for 5 minutes, and as soon as they cried, promptly handed them over to their mommies.

No. I mean, I have seriously taken care of about 7-odd babies in a babysitter kind of way. I cleaned them, bathed them, fed them milk from their bottles, rocked them to sleep, held them while their mommies took 2 minutes off.

But, doing all this with my own baby is new to me, and I am one shit scared mommy. I worry too much. I might be the happiest mommy on the block, yet, I worry.

As a mom, rather, as a new mom, there are a few things I have done, I keep doing, or I might do in the future, that I am not proud of. Nothing serious, but little things that do matter, if only, at times.

So, today, I will confess to all these "crimes":

1) I haven't brushed my hair today. Or yesterday. Even the day before.

To be honest, I can't recall the last time I gave my tresses a good brush. I THINK I gave them a nice dose of shampoo on the weekend, but that's a faint recollection.

Don't get me wrong. I am not trying to be the next Lord Shiva with knotty hair and curly fingernails. Neither am I trying to look like a hippie who smokes weed and pretends to look like Bob Marley!

The thing is, my toddler is going through a very, very pesky phase. He howls and shrieks if I am out of eye sight. In his world. brushing my hair is a sign that I am heading out and leaving him behind.

So, in order to bring some peace to his crazy toddler world, I am not brushing my hair. There you go!

2) I sometimes want JUST TWO MINUTES to myself. But, as moms, that's not happening for the next 20 years, I suppose.

I want to pee in peace, without the door being banged, followed with screams of "mamma!".

Ditto, poop. The commode has sent out a search warrant for me, the person who used to spend hours sitting on it, reading the newspaper.

3) Some times, when little P wakes up way too many times at night, and the only way to get him back to sleep is to feed him, I feel like crying.

He is still not sleeping through, and on good days (nights?!), wakes up roughly 4 times. But, heaven help us when he's sick, or teething, which isn't too often, thank God!

This one time, I counted 12 times. I just wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it. Then, I remembered, that in all probability, I will hear shouts of "mamma!", followed by some banging, and that, I might have to feed him to calm him down.

So, I thought to myself, "Aah! Now, I possibly can't feed him in a hole, so might as well be here, and feed him lying down, my eyes still closed, in the comfort of the air conditioner!"

4) Speaking of feeding...

For the past few days, I am scared shitless every time I have to feed him, because he's going through a biting phase, and damn! He bites me every time! GAAAH!

Some times, I scream and shout in pain, which scares him, and he cries. Other times, I try and ignore it, and just walk away. But, I still get cries! HUH! Little cheeky bugger!

5) I hate stepping out of the house. I HATE IT! I've got some fellow new moms in the neighborhood, and most of them have managed to knock of the pounds, while, I am ONLY 15 KGS DOWN!

I hate dressing up, mostly because I am yet to fit into my old clothes. I can fit into my jeans though! But nothing else! Of course, the hair brushing, or rather, the lack of it, doesn't help.

6) I look at fellow mommies' pictures and feel extremely jealous. I just do, I can't help it.

7) I can't remember the last time I paid attention to the husband, poor guy, bless him! I don't know where he is when he's doing multi city tours. I forget to make his morning coffee, I get delayed in serving him lunch. Shyte!

And don't even get me started on the sex!

8) I am scared of making conversation with adults. Even more, when those adults don't have kids themselves. My mind is thinking "Monster trucks and tractors", because little P is going through a "I love tractor" phase.

Worst, instead of coherent words, nursery rhymes come to my head. NOT GOOD!

9) I worry too much that I may never get back to a job. Or, even if I do, I will worry that little P isn't being taken care of.

10) I confess that having a baby has made some serious dents in my self confidence. Don't ask me why. It just has. It's the most beautiful thing that has happened to me, yet, I am not the woman I used to be.

11) I don't bother about how I look these days. I shower twice a day, but that's about it. I have been living in my PJs for 15 months now. I miss them when I wear "decent" clothes!

12) Remember the breast pump that saved my sanity and helped us breast feed? Well, it has been lying in its pack on the bedside table, for the last 13 months, because I am so scared that something will go wrong, and our feeding will suddenly stop!

So, I just clean the packaging, and let it remain there, lest it jinx me!

13) I am supposed to be on a "diet", not in a starving way, but a gentle way to eat less, and stay away from crap. I confess that I dream of cheese. It haunts me! I have to lose another 10 kgs, and that fatty b**ch won't let me!

There you go!

I feel better already. Now, let me quickly get to sleep and slip into deep slumber, which will take 2 hours, because all the day's nursery rhymes will come back to haunt me! Last night, my mind kept playing "head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes" on a loop!!!

Where's my weed?!

Do I NEED ANY MORE advice?!

Pregnancy, child birth and child rearing are the most poignant of experiences in one's lifetime. Ironically, the sheer emotional magnitude of these stages in one's life either really bring a couple close together, or bring out some shocking differences between them, Differences, that up until that point, didn't really matter in the entire scheme of things.

It's also a time in life when one faces two extreme sets of emotions. On the one hand, is the excitement of becoming parents, whether first time, or fifth. The number doesn't matter.

On the other hand, are the anxiety and the doubts. Will we be good parents? Will we be able to provide for this little person who is going to be dependent on us for very many years to come?

As parents, it becomes second nature to second guess things, at least in the initial stages, because that little person is unable to explain to us what's bothering her.

So, we second guess every time there's a whimper or a howl. Did he pee? Is she suffering from colic? Too hot? Too cold? Toddler frustrations... and the list can go on and on.

Most parents almost always share these episodes/anecdotes with fellow human beings, mostly to gain a shoulder to cry on, a little bit of sympathy, a little bit of advice.

And, here's the tricky part. The thing with advice is: it's free, every body wants to give it, yet, there are few takers.

And that's probably because, in the name of advice, we tend to get judged a lot. And. that's one thing no parent will accept: the judgemental comments.

As parents. we all make mistakes. We all try to learn from them, and move on. We accept the mistake, we humbly apologise and we look ahead.

Nobody wants to be told how to raise their child. Not for any other reason, but the fact that I would like to do it my way. You've had your chance, now let me have mine, IN PEACE!

Here are a few things, rather comments aka advice, that really, I MEAN, MOTHER OF GOD, really get my goat:

1) You should be breastfeeding because breast is best

2) You shouldn't be breastfeeding because s/he will grow up to become a really dependent child

3) You are STILL breastfeeding?! AAh, no wonder, he's like blah and blah.

4) You should have started solids at TWO MONTHS! He's anyway going to grow up and eat crap.

5) You should let him cry. It'll teach him a few things in life!

6) DO NOT RESPOND when he screams and howls and brings the roof down. He'll eventually learn how to self settle

7) Oh no! Poor you! He's still not sleeping through. It's because you:

a)  breastfed or are still breastfeeding

b) he shares bed space with you

8) What?! You give him normal food like us adults, and not sugar-coated factory-made baby food?!

9) He's NOT A DIAPER baby?! You shouldn't be running behind him, cleaning his bottom all day.

10) Don't whisper when he's asleep. Shout and holler so he will learn to sleep surrounded by din.

11) Oh no! You run to him too quick!

12) Oh no! You are too protective. Once you have had 3.4.5 babies, you'll learn to let go.

13) Babies are manipulative people! Don't let him dictate terms! He should know you are the boss!



You know what?! I am okay with whatever I am doing, and horror of horrors, so is my baby! He's happy and content that I am still breastfeeding him, even though he bites me AT EVERY FEED. He's also okay with the fact that I gave him formula when he needed it. I am not going to jail for that, and neither will any other mom.

Ditto with sharing our bed. In fact, currently, it seems like we are sharing his bed, because he promptly kicks the crap outta us, as soon as he is a wee bit uncomfortable, even at 4 am.

Same goes for us responding to quickly and not letting him cry. He is the boss in our house, and he knows it, and we are all fine with it. He only knows how to cry, that's his natural way of communicating. No good will come by showing who's the boss.

As for food, He's not had one spoon of baby cereal. He's extremely happy with his adult food and so are we. No body has to spend hours in the kitchen making baby food for him, and it's so cool to travel this way with no worries about buying cartons and what not.

I am not a perfect mom. Neither is my boy a perfect baby. He has his bad moments, I have mine. My husband isn't a perfect daddy either. Yet, we all love each other and are "OKAY" with the way we are.

You should be too...

And yes, even if I have FIVE MORE kids, I will still be this finicky. And, even if I don't, who cares?!

Old McDonald had a farm! And on his farm, he had a COW!!!

I am sitting here trying to recall the initial days, but all that comes to mind is the feeding, or sometimes, the lack of it, in my case.

The only other thing(s) that come to mind are the constant peeing, little P's, NOT MINE! The poos, again, HIS.

I also recall being peed IN THE FACE, INTO THE MOUTH!

NOTE TO SELF: KEEP TRAP SHUT WHEN CHANGING THE DUDE'S NAPPY!

And. the sleeplessness. Oh man! I think I had gone into zombie territory!

Those who know me well would know that I am an emotional person when it comes to sleep. Lack of decent sleep makes me go bonkers. I could literally pull my own hair off and cry, I get that cranky, even at this age.

And the breastfeeding was taking its toll on my emotions. The biting was just getting too much. At one point, half my nipple came off, just like that. It was as if it decided, hey, let me see what happens when I hang off this cliff!!!

I was constantly doing a yo-yo between "I am stopping right this moment!", and "Let me feed him ONE LAST TIME!"

Come to think of it, I was sleepless because little P would just not sleep. The combination of lack of sleep and the feeding issues were taking a toll on him.

We were clueless. Breastfed babies typically thrive on mother's milk, but ours was like a one-in-a-million exception.

We had to radically up the formula, yet again, and this time, we started using bottles, because spoon feeding a screaming baby is an art that no one can master. More than 70 per cent of the milk goes waste!

This was a catch 22 situation, yet again. In less than 3 days' time, little P had developed what is known as nipple confusion. In simple terms, he had started preferring the fast pace at which milk was flowing from the bottle nipples, compared to breastfeeding, which required him to put in a lot of hard work!

Oh yeah! Babies are smart! They will, any given day, prefer something that requires them to do less hard work.

I was stumped. I just didn't know what to do. He simply refused to feed, all over again. I finally managed to spend some good monies this time, and bought an electric pump, which is typically far far better than a manual one.

I went online and found out some women who do what is known as "exclusively pumping". That is, they pump breast milk on a schedule that more or less resembles their baby's feeding pattern, and the baby is only fed expressed breast milk. 

This is the hardest thing to do. Imagine the horrors of cleaning and sterilising bottles, add to that the cleaning and sterilising the breast pump. Now, instead of directly feeding the baby, which gets easier as the baby grows, you put a pump to those breasts and sit for a scheduled time.

Here's the beauty: In the initial days, you HAVE TO DO THIS AS OFTEN AS YOUR BABY WOULD FEED! YES, that's right. One has to do this at least 8-10 times a day! And you have to pump once between 1-5am, because that's when you produce the most milk, based on your hormones.

Without going into further details... I did this for ONE WHOLE MONTH. Every day, without a fail, I would start at 7 am, and pump on a 2 hour schedule till 11 in the night. The pumping itself would take 40 minutes, so by the time I would be done, it would be time for the next session!

I would even put an alarm for 3.30 am every night, and when the whole world and my own baby would be fast asleep, I would be up and out on a date with the damn pump going grrr grrr grrr whee whee whee on me!

The funny part was, keeping that expressed milk in the refrigerator was a constant worry! I had to always tell FIL, hey, you better not use that to make your morning cuppa!!!

My pumping had become a joke, and so had I, but not in a bad way. Every one was glad things were going okay. Little P was finally thriving. The formula was slowly being cut out and he was becoming more and more "dependent" on me.

Because I was constantly pumping, most times, I felt like a farm cow who was being milked at all odd hours of the day, and the reason I was being taken care of, was because of the milk I was providing.

My mother dear's sense of humour suddenly knew no bounds. As soon as little P would start crying, she would say, "Hold on! The cow is being milked just for you!"

Some times, she would feed the expressed milk to him, and say, "Here you go! Fresh from the farm, just for you!" I could kiss her RIGHT NOW, I TELLYA!

At times, when I was in the mood myself, I would MOO MOO!! whilst pumping!

Oh yeah! Whoever said bringing up a baby isn't fun, should try his (her??!) hands at pumping!  

Look, mommy! Instead of milk, there's blood coming out!

The last time I checked, it had been 3 HOURS since little P had started feeding. Oh yeah, those cluster feeds, when your little monster can literally feed for hours on end, can break the hardest of human beings.

I know a fellow-mom whose little one once fed for some 14 hours non stop!!!

Me, I was so ecstatic that little P was feeding from me, that 3 hours seemed nothing. My doctor had advised me to lock ourselves in a room, no disturbance, put on some music to ease my anxiety over feeding and just feed feed feed.

So, in true nerd style, the ipod was always at the bedside, the room was always comfortable, there was a water bottle and a straw, LOADS AND LOADS of pillows to support me and little P, and just us.

More importantly, I had three soldiers literally standing on one foot, ready to take orders from a screaming me, every time I wanted something. Mom, MIL and the husband were equally happy that things were finally working for us, and ready to provide me with a helping hand and leg!

There was a flip side to this, though. Our little P, it turned out, was quite a biter!

Only a nursing mother knows how painful it is to be bitten by a baby whilst feeding!

Man! Do no underestimate the power of those gums. Teeth are overrated! A little nip is all it takes for the blood to start oozing out instead of milk!

I sometimes think, maybe it's a good thing that nature provided women with two breasts! I would be retired hurt from one side for days on end. As soon as it would repair, bam! The other side would get seriously nipped, and I would have to suspend feeding from that side for at least 3 days for it to heal completely.

Here's another beautiful thing about breastfeeding. If you rest a injured side for too long, you end up getting either engorged, or with block milk ducts.

And when I say that getting spanked on your bottom is probably a lesser pain any either of these two bit***s, I am right!

Mother of god! The pain, and the shivering and the fever that follow these two beauties, oh wow!!!

This one time, I was feeding from the nipped side, I looked down, and he looked like a little vampire! His mouth was covered in MY BLOOD!

I hadn't realised, but I had seriously "broken a boob", as they say. There was blood gushing out like a waterfall, little P had no idea had he was guzzling on my blood, and his torso was also covered in blood!

The emotional trauma of getting bit was too much for me to handle. This was a recurring thing for me. Every few days, I was heard screaming my lungs out, crying hysterically, rushing to the washroom to see the damage and eventually roam around the house with a smelly Tee-shirt that would reek of milk, because I would leak to the moon and back, during those rest days.

Apart from the biting, things were going okay, I suppose. But, there was a weird part: Little P was refusing to sleep. This was one non-sleeper. He just wouldn't sleep. He would feed for 3 hours, but sleep for 10 minutes, and wake up for another feed.

So, we continued giving him his top-ups here and there, but he kept dropping weight, until one day, we got him weighed, and he had dropped roughly 1.5 kgs. Which is like some 20 kgs in adult weight.

My ego was satisfied that breastfeeding was working, but this wasn't how I wanted it to work. The doubts and the questions were back.

Is garlic better than guilt?

The thing with guilt is: IT'S A BLOODY BITCH!!!

As I see it, guilt is like a giant, enormous and invisible spider on your back. It's huge, but because it is invisible, only you can feel the burden of its weight and everybody else around you wonders why it's bothering you!

For sure as hell, they can't see it, so they don't know what it's like to feel guilty about something.

Today is an apt day to write about guilt, because today, I feel guilty.

Yes, I indeed chomped away on a pizza, but that's not what's killing me on the inside.

I did something awful, but I shall munch on that guilt myself.

Going back to the past...

This guilt was at work then as well. Breastfeeding was turning out to be a nightmare. Nobody at my place understood what I was going through. They probably thought I was selfish for trying again and again to get little P to feed from me, get him all worked up, and then give up and feed him formula!

Might as well have given it to him in the first place, dumbass!!!

And then...

The doorbell rang...

My saviour had arrived!!! And no, no pizza this time!

It was the breast pump I had ordered! Woohoo! Hello, watermelons, whatcha gonna do now, eh?!

So, off I went, on a date with the pump. Now, this breast pump is the UNSEXIEST THING ever invented for those ladies.

Not even the largest, ugliest maternity bra comes close to this ugly monster which goes grrr grrr when you put it on to you! It's a horror show, alright!

Any hoo... This wasn't a workable solution. Firstly, my milk was quickly drying up because nothing can possibly suckle and remove milk from a breast the way a baby can. Do not underestimate the power of a baby's suckle!

Moreover, it would take me ages to get tiny amounts of milk and the whole process was so damn frustrating.

I was losing trust in my own body and its ability to take care of something that it had created. I mean, what good a mother was I, who couldn't feed her own baby.

The pediatrician's words had killed me. I was ready to die. I was ready to do anything.

At times like these, the mother-in-law sure has some ideas up her sleeve.

When I said anything, I meant anything except garlic. I seriously hate those bastards! And guess who knew that...?! ;)

Sure enough, a lovely concoction was prepared. This was no concoction, it was the juice of a million garlic pods crushed to death and fed to me, so I could die. The husband pinched my nose and almost sat on top of me, lest I kick him you-know-where. And the MIL, ah bless her! She poured a GLASS FULL OF GARLIC JUICE down my throat!!!

Frankly speaking, I don't know what worked. My pigheadedness, the stupid effing garlic "concoction" or just God's will, but one day, I randomly decided to pop little P on, and VOILA!!!

Guess what, he happily guzzled away!

Hooray! Just like that, my worries all faded as he fed...

And fed...

And fed...

And fed...

And then some more...