Happiness in motherhood is watching your child poop in the big boy potty!

The past six months have flown by in a haze. I can't remember much of it to blog about it, although every minute detail is engraved in my mind. But, I'm not so sure it makes for great blog copy, unless you are interested in reading about how it takes me an hour to give little P his breakfast,  another hour for lunch and ditto dinner.

Another hour is spent trying to persuade him to stop crying, another two are spent wondering why he's crying : big bus can't be found; wants to drink water "DIRECTTTT!!!" from the sipper sans the straw; wants to "pair" water transfering from "big gassh to shmall gashh (glass); wants to pee against the wall like a dog; wants to feed the neighborhood crow his food WITH THIS OWN HANDS !!!

I am, of course, his enemy number 1, trying to stop him from doing all these exciting things and more. Life as a toddler is certainly entertaining, and we adults sure suck at having fun. I mean, surely, it must be fun taking your pants off in front of total strangers when they visit us and scream, "Big susuuuuu (pee)" while running to the bathroom like a banshee.

Needless to say, my heart beams with pride and love overflows in all forms when I hear him speak the words i so painstakingly teach him every hour of the day. He's not yet two and he's talking loads. It's very surprising to hear him switch between 5 languages, he'll translate from Tamil to English for my mom and vice versa for the FIL!

This one time, he told my mom, "sipper table mailay (up in Tamil ) and she said, in Bengali "aami jaani na tumi ki bolchho" (i don't know what you're saying - literal translation ).

So, this dude of mine, goes up to her and says, "sipper table upar the sipper is atop the table) and sat down with a big thud like this old woman doesn'tknow her Hindi from Tamil and she's making me work extra!


What makes motherhood every bit joyful is the small things he does/speaks everyday. Here are a few sparklers :

Happiness in motherhood is -
Hearing your child say "wow! Nice dress!" When you takeout a really sad dress from the closet.

Seeing him run to the bathroom for small and big job alike, knowing your potty training is going well.

Seeing him sit on the big boy potty and telling you to "sit ekhane (here, in bengali),)" and sing to him while he does his job.

Happiness is him coming to you screaming "babu hungry (he talks in third person!) And asking for his choice of "mum mum"

The list he hands out to you when you are leaving "Babu wants chikoo, chicken, pasta, banana, potato bhaaji, roti, appay (apple) , buu (blue) colour cake, red colour chutney, appay juice, chicken, chicke. And chicken. And then some more chicken.

Happiness (or worry??!) When he says, "appa, Japan po!" (Dad, go to Japan!) When he's angry at his dad for screaming at him.

When he tells him grampa, "thata, don't touch! !", when his grandad is tickling him.

When you sit down to work and he realises you won't be paying attention to him,  and he says, " mumma, office work nono!"

Or when, in the middle of the night, he will suddenly wake up at 3am and say, "mumma, i love you too!"

When he reaches my mom's place and and screams with joy, "aami eshegaichhi!" (I've arrived! )

The best: when he sees his wintery skin coming off and says, " mumma, babu snake ho gaya" (mom, I've turned into a snake) hisssss!

The silly things that make a mom...

Only a mom can know the true beauty of doing mom-like things and saying mom-like sentences.

Some things, only mom are capable of doing, and these things perfectly describe motherhood and its experiences in few short words.

As a new mom, I find myself doing and saying lots of crazy things, which were "below" my creative level earlier. But, having said that, I find myself a lot happier when I do stupid things with little P now, than having done award-winning creative stuff earlier, which never made me content.

Like, drinking milk from a glass and "making" a white moustache for yourself, just so you can entice your toddler enough to drain his glass of milk.

Or pretending to feed the truck in his toy bag, just so that he follows suit and ends up feeding himself in the process.

These silly tasks are so fulfilling, yet so silly, that you wonder what made you "look down" upon them earlier. Because, nothing beats the smile on that face once you have created a perfect moustache on yourself.

As a self-confessed cheese addict, I am finding it hard now to not have any because of the weight-loss "program" I am on. I have to buy it, because I give it to little P as an additional source of calcium and fat. And, so, it gives me the jeepers creepers to see it lying in my fridge, but not having nay of it!

You know you are a mom when the cheese addict in you sees a packet full of cheese slices and pretend not to have seen it, because you bought it only for your toddler, and there's no way you are claiming it to be yours.

The weight loss program also means, I have to go easy on a lot of foods I was earlier allowing myself to eat. This includes leftovers of little P's breakfast, lunch and dinner, which, thankfully, weren't too much!

You know you are a mom when your toddler spits out a morsel and you quickly put it in your mouth, because you don't want him to eat food off the floor. But then, dammit! you are reminded of the diet, and baam! it's too late for you to spit out that absolutely mouth watering stuffed bread you made with lots of ghee! SIGH!

You know you are a mom when you open your bag at the grocery store to look for money, and lay down the following things on the counter: A PLASTIC COW, RATTLE, A HALF-BROKEN RUBIC'S CUBE, A DIAPER, A PRETEND PHONE.

And then, EUREKA!!!

NO, NO, NO, not the money. But the ABC board book that has  been missing from so long, you were convinced your toddler ate it!

Sleeping at night, I often wake up because I find myself being poked in the bottom by the horns of a STUPID PLASTIC STAG, that my little P held onto while he fell asleep. GAAH! HORNS IN THE BUM AT 2AM!!!

After having had little P, we have the chance to finally go meet family back in the husband's hometown. Here's the catch: I wasn't so excited about meeting the family after 4 years, than I was about little P being able to see FARM ANIMALS IN THE LIVE!

And, for me to show off my animal sounds skill that I have to little P! WOOHOO! He will finally know that how mommy moos like a cow and brays like a  donkey is actually how a cow and a donkey sound!

You know you are a mom when, on your anniversary, instead of buying sexy, hot lingerie online, you find yourself buying ugly granny pants because your toddler found the hole in your old ones and poked enough for it to become like a crater on bloody Mars!

As a mom, it's also okay to walk around the house, pretending that you are learning how to strut it like a super model, when you have a green-coloured plastic bowl atop your head and you are shaking your booty at the same time! I AM SEXY AND I KNOW IT!!!

I am also a typical mom, when I snooze for 5 minutes in the afternoon, holding TIGHTLY ONTO MY TODDLER, because he refuses to sleep and insists on playing. And, so, I pray like crazy that he doesn't get up and feel very guilty if I do manage to get 5 minutes of rest.

And, don't even get me started on kind of words and sentences I find myself saying these days. It's a good thing, because, one, I am so strict about any cuss words and slang language.

The bad, or rather, funny part, is that I find myself saying things I never thought anyone did. For example, it's perfectly normal now for me to say, " DON'T LICK THAT POWDER OFF YOUR FOOT!"

or

"Don't you put your finger in my belly button, or dad's!"

"DO NOT GO AND POM POM GRAMPA'S BOTTOM EVERY TIME HE BENDS DOWN!"

The last one has me dying LOL, but I have to set limits, and so, I find myself occasionally screaming those words out!

I also know I am just a normal mom, when I try and recall the lyrics to "wheels on the bus" at 2 am when I go to the loo!

Or when, I come across some suspicious-looking brown stuff on the floor, and touch it to figure out if it's a piece of fruit, OR POOP!!!

I know for a fact, that when I walk into the doctor's with kajal/kohl in just one eye, she's not judging me. Or laughing at me.

Or if she points to the rice in my hair. That's okay too. I am just being a mom.

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?!

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...

"And why are we feeding the baby poison?!"

Day 4 was one long day and drained me emotionally!

It's like a switch flipped inside little P's head and something went kaboom!!

He just refused to feed. Nothing I did, worked for him. He kept howling like a banshee. It was like watching Tarzan in a horror show, it was that bad.

He was clearly hungry, but would not bother feeding from the breast.

Looking back in hindsight, I smile as I recollect the things I tried in order to get him to feed.

I handed him to mom, and as she held him i dangled "myself" over him so gravity could works it miracle.

But no! Some more hollering!

I put him down on the bed, and bent over him. NADA!

I had read about the wonders of skin to skin, that is stripping baby and yourself down to nothing and just letting him say on top of you like that. Nothing there!

I was getting restless and the folks were wondering if I was mad.

The thing with breastfeeding is, it's very simple and easy to those who don't face problems; else, it's the hardest thing ever for those who do face problems.

And I, of course, fell in the latter category.

Nothing was working, so we all finally gave in, and gave little P a bit of formula, and off he dozed.

Now, again, how breastfeeding works is very simple, a supply and demand thing. The more you feed, the more milk you make.And that's why newborn babies feed like crazy, because they send out signals to your body to make enough milk for them.

I had no idea what to do. I was crying hysterically. I had envisaged a smooth nursing journey, but this was the beginning of a long, long battle.

So, every day, or rather every few hours, I did the unsexy task of hand pumping my own breasts. And I tell you, this is the weirdest thing one can do with those ladies!

I mean, once you start breastfeeding, the idea of breasts being a sexual commodity sounds so lame and ridiculous, that you wonder what the big deal is about them. After all, they are only a baby's natural source of food!

Things went on like this for about 4 odd days or so. I would be knackered trying to win a lost battle, I would get fed up pumping spoonfuls of milk, which would sometimes take me 45 minutes, and little P was happy and content with his formula, something I was beginning to hate from my core.

In the meantime, I had ordered a manual breast pump for myself, because I was getting fed up of pom poming myself every few hours.

We had our immunisation coming up, and decided to carry little P's formula in a bottle, something we hadn't used until that point.

We entered the pediatrician's cabin, and I was greeted with:

"And why are we feeding the baby poison?!"

I was stunned. The bottle and the formula wasn't a choice, it was a compulsion because things were taking time to work out and the baby needed his nutrition.

I had suddenly, in the matter of a second, been turned into a evil mother who feeds her baby "poison".

The battle between breast and formula had just begun!

World Wrestling Federation, Tamil-Bengali style!

So, after the ridiculously fat me and my even fatter body parts had been stuffed into the horror film lingerie, it was time to say good bye to the hospital and the amazingly helpful nurses and the doctor.

This was an extremely emotional moment, especially for me. Roughly 8.5 months ago, I was laid in the next room, upside down, not knowing whether the baby would survive and come out a happy, healthy and screaming little monster.

And yet, here we were, ready to take him home, all wrapped up, warm and squishy, some what doughnut like!

The car journey was quite uneventful. Just like any new and first time parents, we informed the driver to not go beyond 40kmph, and I think, everytime he managed to get his foot on the pedal, we were quick enough to admonish him!

And everytime the warm January sun hit little P's face, both of us would quickly cover his face, lest he get tanned, or his eyes get damaged, or worst, IF HE WOKE UP!!!

We reached home, and the events that would unfold would lay the foundation for the Civil Unrest that was to follow at our place for the next one month.

War was soon going to be declared between Tamil Nadu and West Bengal, and we had no idea!

All through the pregnancy, the MIL was away, taking care of the other grand kids, and my mother dear took care of me. Now that MIL was here, ehm ehm... those who are married, or better, watch TV soaps, would know what follows when these two women are pitted against each other.

This is basically a gentler version of the World Wrestling Federation, but without the push up bras and oily bodies. Also, it ain't physical, much to voyeurs' dismay! ;)

Any how...

We were first greeted by two bulls, sorry, women, running towards us, a bit like the Spanish San Fermin, or rather the running of the bulls!

A version closer to home is the running of the bulls in Madurai, Tamil Nadu, with matadors in sexy lungis, or veshtis, whichever you prefer. But the men are definitely more handsome!

MIL somehow managed to reach us first (BOOOO! WEST BENGAL!!!) and greeted us Tamil style, of course, turmeric and vermillion and the whole shebang. Very good, we thought!

Runner Up Bengal to follow...

We were greeted, yet again, sans turmeric and vermillion, but edible oil, not ON US, but around the door frame. SAD SHOW, WEST BENGAL! BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!

The husband and I exchanged some glances. Now, those of who you are married, happily or not, doesn't matter, will know the power of these glances that spouses exchange.

When photographers say, 'A picture speaks a thousand words', they have no idea how many words are silently spoken when a husband and wife share these looks.

The best part is, these glances are open to interpretation! ;)

What we actually "said" was:

Him: Whoop whoop! Amma won!

Solemnly, do you think what I think?

Me: Mom LOST, because I TOLD HER TO BACK OFF, OKAY?! We Bengalis are way smarter and quicker than you Tamilians! Huh! To challenge the descendants of Rabindranath Tagore and Satyajit Ray?!

Solemnly, yes, I too think what you think.

Him: So, basically, for the next one month, till my mom is here, idlis (fermented rice cakes) are going to be  pitted against macch bhaat (fish curry and rice), from morning to midnight?!

Me (to myself): We Bengalis and our maach bhaat ARE SO GOING TO DROWN THOSE SILLY IDLIS! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!

Honey, I shrunk your underwear!

The moment arrived, the big one we had all been waiting for!

Little P was fast asleep and big P was waiting for me to get dressed, while a cab and FIL waited for all of us to pick up our bums and move.

I was quite smug about the fact that now that I had finally given birth, the weight was just going to drop off like the price of mangoes in monsoon, and whoom and boom! I would magically fit into my old clothes now that there would be no bump.

I picked up the lingerie and IT WOULDN'T FIT!!!

It was as if it was 3 sizes too small! WHAT THE FISH?! Not the absolutely unsexy bra, nor the horrendous granny pants! $%^*())&^#@@

The cabbie was honking, the FIL was muttering something in Tamil and the husband was being patient, maybe because he didn't want to mess with the fresh dose of post partum hormones I had warned him about!

I had no idea what to do. I was angry, I was close to tears. I had ordered a maternity/feeding bra somewhere in my last trimester and I was, honestly speaking, very embarrassed when I was placing the order online.

The whole online world and everybody at the lingerie e-store would know my Pamela Anderson bra size! But, I had no choice. I was in desperate need of new (read bigger) ones!

How was I to know that even the biggest size of my life would now suddenly be 3 sizes too small?!

And the sooper dooper big granny pants, the stuff that sexual nightmares are made of, those had shrunk too!

They HAD SHRUNK! Because, I possibly couldn't have become bigger now that the baby was on the outside!

As the honks and muttering grew, I had no option, but to stuff "myself" into the top. At one point, I thought I would suffocate to death, I was that tight!

The underwear?! Gaaah! That's another story!

When you live in a joint family, the older and elder members of the family know a thing or two about what in India is known as "jugaad". That is, an ad-hoc and impromptu solution, that borders on the ridiculous at times!

So, to cut a long story short, I basically just ripped the elastic off the granny chuds as much as I could, and, VOILA!!! There it was, a bigger version of the stupidly disappointing granny pants!

Aaah, those thunder thighs had some new friends, a la old-wine-in-new-bottle kind of friends!

Should we name the baby Rafael, as in Nadal?

D-Day had finally arrived, much to my glee!

Yes, Yes!!! You guessed it, it was time to EAT EGG AND CHEESE WRAPS again! Make that a double please! I have no shame in admitting I can gobble two at a time ;)

This was our penultimate meeting with the doctor and it was a little difficult to accept that the next time we go there, it would also be the last time I would lay my hands on a egg wrap and not feel guilty about it. sniff sniff!!

Any how, here's another thing about pregnancy. The fastest road to divorce is the one you take in pregnancy when you have to zero down upon a name for the baby, and that's when you know that your spouse LOVES HIS FOLKS more than he loves you.

This moment, when this revelation is out in the open and is there to stay forever, is a time point in a married couple's life.

Of course, like all pregnant women, I had already decided on boy and girl names, probably from the time I got my two positive lines on the peeing stick. And of course, they had to be COOL NAMES, and definitely neither Tamil nor Bengali.

No way Jose! There would be no Muthu or Mishti! Oh nononono! This was my cupcake, I was the oven for NINE FRIGGING months. There's no way I could let the grampas and granmas take away my moment by giving the baby a real tragic name!

The husband, on the other hand, had already decided that he would VETO each cool name I threw across. He knew the real me, he knew I would come up with some Hollywood-inspired or F1 or tennis-inspired name.

Much to my dismay, before I could even suggest those names, he said no to Rafael, Pete, Steffi!!! HUH?! Did he not know who these people were?! Of course he did, but he was having none of them, or rather, their name sakes, in our living room.

This is also the time in your life when marriage politics comes into play. You have to make everyone happy, there's no denying that. And, by everyone, I mean the In-laws. And that's a tough nut to crack, ain't it?!

We have this tradition of naming babies after grandparents, sort of like an Indian version of George I and Louis XV. But my pseudo-intellectual half-Bengali genes were vehemently protesting against being mommy to a Swamy I or a Muthu III.

And neither was I going to be mommy to a Rabindranath junior or a Satyajit junior!

So, in the spirit of secularism, we decided to say byebye to Tamil and Bengali names and just came up with the letter 'P', because, it's mommy-in-law's initial.

But, what about MY MOMMY?!

Husband: And, what about my DADDY?!

Gaaah! Egg wraps, where are you when I need you?!

Mommy and daddy and all kinds of genes be damned, I was in labour already and I had no idea!

The doctor told me, "You are going to deliver in less than 48 hours!"

And indeed, I did!