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?!

Hello, and welcome to the world of peepees!

I was always pigheaded about the fact that if and when I do have a baby, I would only go for a woman obe-gyn. Not that I have anything against the men, but it was just a preference I had. Luckily, for us, ours was a she. BUT, and there's a but here, the pediatrician at that hospital was a he.

So, I am laid there, everything is out in the open. I am staring at the ceiling, concentrating hard on not screaming, holding onto my big fat thighs for support, because my legs were fixed on the stirrups, pushing with every contraction that wreaked my body. And, in walks HE, coolly looking at me, my stuff like an open wardrobe, and looks at me, nods a hello, and says, "What's up?!"

And, I am like, Not much, Just trying not to let out a poop instead of the baby, because s/he is hell bent on not making an appearance.

At this point, the decision was taken to cut me up and deliver the baby, because I had no strength left in me, given the passage of time, and the strong headed babe I had inside me, who had decided to take permanent residence inside.

The one painful thing about the caeserean operation is the epidural they give in your spinal cord. Man! That's one big syringe! I won't be surprised if it's the same one used to sedate horses, it's that big!

It took forever for me to bend over, and you have to really make a concave out of your back for the needle to go in correctly, because I was so damn huge. After a while, I was numb below the waist, and the painkillers that had been administered before, were still making me quite woozy.

And, the nerd that I am. I kept asking the doctors what they were doing, because, you know, I was a SCIENCE STUDENT once, and came 10,000 in the All India position in some medical entrance test I gave a zillion years ago, before I found my true calling! BAAH!

Little did she know, that all my knowledge came from watching Grey's Anatomy and also because, I read through a million labour stories and watched many more videos before the real thing made me pee in my nightie, pun intended.

I am half asleep, when suddenly, I hear myself discussing episodes from the TV series and the doctors are busy doing their job, but quite taken in by my knowledge. MUST PAT MYSELF AFTERWARDS!

I wake up again, after a bit, and I see what seem like TESTICLES! HUH?! Yes, black, like really black ones, in front of my eyes, against a ball of milky white skin, which the doctor was holding.

At that point, I smile, and, now I am not too sure, but I either said, "BOY!" or "BALLS!" Either way, both go hand in hand ;)

So, there he was, our Sindhi-Tamil-Bengali dude, our little P, all covered in gooey stuff and screaming bloody murder, while the doctor patted his white and pink bottom.

The baby had safely arrived. It was a 'He'. All the stars, the astrological predictions, the pundits whathaveyou, All of you, take a bow, because, Alas! I was indeed mommy to a peepee.

This rent agreement is only for 9 months

All my dreams of having a Hollywood-style pregnancy and labour were crashing. The pregnancy, of course, was now about to get over, with the not-so-cool labour taking over.

Somewhere towards the end of our pregnancy, I somehow managed to get the husband to sit with me and go through hours and hours of YouTube videos of women giving birth.

Yep, we saw it all. The normal ones, the caesarean ones. All the drama, the emotions, the tears, the blood, the screams, the joy, you name it and we saw it. We held hands all through those videos, we were so shit scared!

This was now our moment. No movie-inspired labour for me, thankyouverymuch!

We waited for 3 hours, and then called up the hospital and told them we were coming. It was 0230 hours and we booked a cab and I left home wearing a nightie! Oh yeah, I forgot to change clothes, because the pain was a bit** and I didn't care a tiny rat's ass about how I was dressed!

Soon, our doctor arrived, and before you knew it, I was screaming bloody murder! The pain was now killing me, and I was ready to kill the husband, because, of course, labour pain turns you into murderous evil witch!

All those promises to myself that I will go through this pain and not succumb to getting cut melted away, as the pain rocked my body and mind. This was crazy shit pain. When they say labour feels like you are going to do the biggest poo of your life, IT'S BLOODY TRUE!

Pretty soon, I was all konked out, thanks to the lovely painkillers I was given. I slept off, but woke up every couple of minutes were the pains tore through my body and the husband, poor fellow, rubbed my back like his life was on the line. At the end, I am pretty sure, he wanted a hand transplant and a wife transplant, as well ;)

The clock slowly managed to make its way through the hours, and after five or so hours, the sweet words I so wanted to hear, finally came: you are ready.

We had taken permission for the husband to accompany me to the labour room, but what ensued later would forever go down in history books as a question mark. Apparently, some drama occurred, and the doctor quickly threw both the husband and mother dear out. I shall not elaborate further for the sake of family ties ;)

I was on the labour table, popping in and out of consciousness. I was shaking and shivering like I was a Bollywood actress dressed in a chiffon sari atop the damn Alps lip synching to my heart's content! The shakes were so bad, the darn table went clackety clack!

Next thing you know, I hear myself telling the doctor, I want to pee. So, she says, no problem, go ahead and do it. And before you could say hello, I went! Yep! I peed on the labour table, just like that. No dignity, I told ya!

She told me when to push, and push I did! For 2.5 hours! But nothing came out! This little Sindhi-Bengali-Tamil cheeky monkey was one hell of a stubborn baby!

She tried getting forceps into me, but nope, nothing. Ditto, vacuum cup, a weird little cup that went inside me, did some weird little dance inside me, and came out empty handed. Speaking of hands, she even tried getting her hands inside me to move the baby's head, because it was stuck at a weird angle :o

Ermmm, okay...

I know the womb is a wonderful place to be in, but, hello, baby, are you planning to come out at all?! Our rent agreement lease is only for 9 months, you know!

BEWARE! THIS WOMAN IS A FART MACHINE!

In my head, I had already decided and dreamt of going through pregnancy looking like Jessica Alba. My body, of course, had a mind of its own. To say that I was ballooning, was of course, coating it with sugar and honey!

I only have half-Sindhi genes, but they suddenly took over my body like there was no tomorrow. Hello, double chin and fat ankles!

It had only been 3 odd days since I had taken the pregnancy test and visited our BFF doctor, so I was only a month, give or take a few days, into the pregnancy.

Every morning, I was woken up to the smell of "ONE BOILED EGG", which I would literally stuff down my throat and follow with a litre of water to get over the damn smell.

People at my work place were giving me suspicious looks, one, because of the igloo padding I would wear; and two, because my lunch box suddenly took on epic proportions! Very diligently packed by mom, of course. And even more diligently chewed, licked and swallowed by idiotic forever-hungry male colleagues!! OOOOOH!!!! SPROUT SALAD! AND FRUITS! grrrr! :s

To make matters worst, I had turned into this friggin' giant BURP AND FART MACHINE! I mean, seriosuly, at one point, it was difficult to make out which end the Enfield-like noise came from! The husband was fed up of me, to say the least. This was, after all, male territory, and how dare I, a pregnant woman, burp and fart so damn loud, that even a sleeping dog would get scared shitless!

Luckily for me, I had a cabin to myself at work. This doesn't imply that I was printing money. It was just an admin decision to give me one, AND NO, IT WASN'T BECAUSE PEOPLE WERE COMPLAINING ABOUT MY FARTING CAPABILITIES!!!

But, Boy! Was the cabin useful?! I only went to work for 4-odd days during my entire pregnancy, but oh man! I made full use of the cabin for my extra-curricular activities ;)

I think it was around the 5th day or so, that I noticed an alarming sign. I was, of course, too worried itself, and the blood spots didn't help. I was lucky enough to have been given a chauffer-driven car by office folks, and was quickly driven down to  my gynaecologist.

It's the damn tiger aka polyp, I kept thinking all the way. My superstitious beliefs weren't far behind, needless to say. So, the ipod was quickly brought out and the playlist double fast-forwarded to some devotional songs. On a serious note, I was battling tears, and was talking to the bump by then, telling it that everything will be all right.

Some quick scans were done, and I was explained that I had an extremely low-lying placenta, the organ that provides nourishment, oxygen and blood to the foetus during pregnancy.

I was told to take it easy, be on bed rest and take leave from work. This wasn't going the way we thought it would and the next couple of months gave us extremely worrying news.