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!

Bye Bye peace and cleanliness, Hello rough play! - Things I've learnt as a mom to a boy

I've said this before, or rather, I've admitted this before: I WAS very apprehensive about being a mommy to a boy. I was scared because, well, I am a girl, and therefore, I have no clue what's it like being a boy!

I don't have siblings, so no knowledge bank there, as well. I have cousins, yes, but that doesn't count when it comes to intimately knowing what being a boy is like.

And, now that he, the little dude, the little P, the little monkey, is here, I am in love, pure and joyous love. I cannot imagine life without him. Heck, I can't imagine what it would be if I had a girl. I've become so used to being a mommy to a boy, that now, having a girl would probably give me goosebumps!

Having said that, I must state that raising a boy isn't exactly a cakewalk! It's got its own shares of funny learnings and shocking experiences. You have to admit, bringing up a girl is very different from raising a boy, and it's not just the clothes I am talking about!

Sure, I always wanted to have a little girl and dress her up like a little princess, all pretty colours, and what not. But, having a boy has changed my perception and expectation of being a mommy.

Here's what being a mommy to a little boy has taught me:

1) Boys toys are SO MUCH COOLER! 

As a girl/woman/lady/aunty, I have only ever been exposed to the world of dolls and doll houses and pretend kitchens and skipping ropes and all that jazz. I never knew what owning a toy tractor felt like, or what kind of sound does a toy bike make!

I am pretty sure the only time I saw a concrete mixer was when I went to school, and I am also pretty sure that I no idea what it was called, maybe because there was some funny name I had made up for it. Who knows?!

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But, being a mommy to a little boy has opened my eyes and ears to an exciting world of even more exciting vehicles. Who knew monster trucks and fire engines were so cool and made for such amazing pretend play?! All that vra vra vroom throughout the day! Woohoo! My ears certainly miss all that action when I am away from home! Uhuh! I can't wait to get back to the tens of cars and trucks and bikes and engines we have at home, and all that vra vra vroom we do through the day!

And the sheer bliss of waking up everyday to shrieks of "CAAAAARRRR!", is just that, sheer bliss!

Or the way little P says, 'TRAYYTORRR!", because he can't yet pronounce the C in tractor and it comes out all cute and cuddly without the C. Or the BBBB---BU--BBUSS! The BUS is also pronounced with a silent S, but man! That makes it sound so much cooler and more fun!

Who cares about pink ribbons and pony tails?! We want wheels, and lots of them!

2) QUIET TIME, WASSDAT, YOU SAY?!

Being a mommy to a little boy also means you get your ears up for the constant screams and shouts of excitement that follow with every little achievement that little P manages. Whether it's unlocking his beads or throwing the toy auto from the balcony, or even throwing the water bottle from atop the chair! We sure are always excited and we certainly like to show it with our lungs! 

Who wants quiet pretend play combing dolls' hairs and making tea with fake miniature cups?! We would rather be a teapot our self and dance and trot around with a naked bum as mommy sings I am a little teapot! Because, that's so much cooler and extremely self satisfying and not at all funny. Right?!

3) WHERE'S MY WILLY?!

Boys will be boys, they say. And, boy! Are they right?! What's with the constant touching?! I wish I could explain to him that his willy will be there all day and night. But, I don't think that even if he were to understand what I say, it would matter. Because, we have to touch it to believe it that it;s there and not suddenly decided to go on vacation and leave us, GOD FORBID, WILLY-LESS?! HORROR OF ALL HORRORS!!! WHERE'S MY WILLY?!

4) THE MESS. OH THE MESS

I have been told that little girls are way too clean from childhood and they have far too much self respect about letting themselves or their surroundings get dirty. I didn't think there was an iota of truth behind this. But now, I am convinced. 

The amount of dirt that comes falling off when I trim his nails, which is exactly every 6 days, because by day 7, they seem to take on shocking horror movie proportions and he can claw you to death with those sharp rascals!

And, don't even get me started about the lines and lines of dirt that accumulates under the neck, in the folds. OR THE ARMPITS?! Seriously, armpits are dirty, at 16 months! What's going to happen when he's a teenager?! Dear God, please give me the strength and some really strong body wash that can ably attack those germs without burning a hole in my pocket!

The house looks like it was wrecked by the fury of nature. It wasn't. We just had lunch. That's what happens when we eat, okay?! The food suddenly starts flying off the plates and the water is splashing on its own. I have no idea why mommy is always screaming that the house is a mess, and daddy is screaming that she isn't keeping it clean. Don't they know, this is just fine and this is how it will be till I move out their house? They should just grow up and accept things! Huh, silly adults!

5) WHO FARTED?! 

I am so glad that I am not a prude when it comes to toilet humour and all things fart and poop! Because, apparently, farts make little boys go giggle giggle and they literally go ROFL. Huh!

Who knew that I had this ability to make him go ROFL without trying, eh?! And, to think that he has it in HIS GENES! OH MY! I don't think I would have been happier if he had inherited some scholarly genes. Oh no! I am just happy that he thinks farting is normal and it's fine to LOL when it leaves your body, 'NUFF SAID!

Letter from a mommy to her little boy, regarding PEE PEE

Dear Little P

This is in regard to the below-mentioned task that you performed today with utmost sincerity and patience. The task that lasted a very long while, or at least, that's what it felt like.

I understand, that as a little boy, in fact, simply as a boy, it is under the purview of your job profile of being a boy to touch yourself constantly.

But, as a member of the opposite gender, and more importantly, as a concerned mother, please allow me to write this letter to you to "talk about things".

I also understand that after a few years, this letter might somehow fall into your possession, so I will try to keep it simple and clean, for fear of embarrassing you later.

First and foremost, there is no need to touch yourself constantly. Rest be assured, that IT will always be there. Unless, God forbid, some calamity strikes, or I don't know, you make some other decisions, IT will be there.

So, therefore, I beg you, try and refrain from feeling it every few minutes, hours.

There's a reason why I don't allow you naked bum time anymore. and, you guessed it, IT is the reason.

I find it a bit alarming that your face and your grin take on evil connotations as soon as you realise that your knickers are off, and you get busy. Please, get that grin off of your face, and take a look at the mess you've made.

You know how YOU touch yourself and then go and touch your granny. It's not cool! NOPE.

Also, not at all cool to touch yourself and touch the food that you were eating. 

Let me also tell you, that IT IS NOT OKAY to feed IT, OKAY?!

IT doesn't require mangoes, sapodilla and water melon to be fed. IT has its own way of finding nutrition, therefore, you don't have to be the caregiver.

This is especially true if you intend on sharing food with IT. I am sure IT will manage on its own, without taking a bite off that bread from your plate.

Kindly also do not think of touching me after you've done you know what. I am your mommy, yes, I gave birth to you, yes. You were in my womb for 9 months, yes. But, NO TO THE THING I MENTIONED, OKAY?! JUST PLAIN NO.

Also, if food does happen to fall on IT, in the event that you are eating with your knickers off, as tempting as it may be, please don't pick food off IT and put it back in your mouth.

You also don't have to call our attention towards you when you are busy with IT. We KNOW what you are up to, and we are trying our best to avoid looking at you. So, let's try and keep it at its ignorant best, yeah? When you grow up and hear 'ignorance is bliss', you will know why.

I should also tell you that our help is equally not interested in what you are up to. So, there's no need to call her attention as well. I am happy with the way things are going on the domestic front, so please don't do something that will lead to a sexual harassment case.

You know how it's normal for you to tug at IT for hours on end just to see how far IT will go? It physically pains me to look at you doing that to yourself, so, please, STOP PULLING IT.

I sincerely worry that the strength with which you pull IT, IT WILL COME OFF ONE DAY. I do worry about this.

I am pretty sure that all this is normal, and as I said, under the purview of your life as a boy. I also know that your daddy will think I am an idiot for thinking that you won't be doing this, just because I pretend to be a prude when it comes to IT.

But, that's okay with me. I just want you to know that you don't have to take this job so seriously, and it's okay to let go at times, pun intended.

A concerned Fatmommy

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?!

POO POO IN THE POTTY, POO POO IN THE POTTY!!!

I have no recollection of how night 2 passed, but Day 3 arrived, and lo and behold! It was the day that we had to...

...Yes, yes, yes!!! you guessed it!

This was D-Day. It was time for me to pass the stool test and I was pooping in my pants (NOT). I had slowly managed to get off the hospital bed and start walking. It was a bit weird at first, this feeling of suddenly feeling so light without the bump.

Pregnant women across the world will nod in agreement when I say we tend to waddle as soon the bump gets a bit bigger and tends to come in our way from all sides. You see a woman who walks like a duck, but there's no quack quack happening? Yep, pregnant woman on board! Beware of us waddlers!

Our hips don't lie, as well! They tend to balloon thanks to the hormones or the cheese, in my case. So, we have no choice, but to waddle with all that fat ruining our centre of gravity and making us look like fat little ducklings unsure of where our next step is going to land!

Of course, the fact that you can't see your own feet because your bump and those boobs get so darn big doesn't help! Dammit, I can't see my toes!

Any hoo... I waddled around the room, around the floor, me and my big bum going quackity quack. In case you've forgotten, I also had my watermelons to carry around me, adding to all that waddling.

Give way. give way! Here comes the lady from Room 1, her bosom leading the way, and her bum following suit!

This one time, I was standing, whilst talking to a visitor, and before I knew it, a pool of milk had formed around my feet! I kept thinking I was sweating, because honest to God, I do sweat like a pig, and the husband and mother dear will agree, sadly. But, I look down, and this "sweat" was whitish in colour and I looked a bit dumb wondering what happened. Goofy me!

So, yes,,, The BIG P.

I am trying not to go into gory details here, but I was so nervous, I kept having loads and loads of hot water. Don't ask me why. I have no idea. I was as nervous as a teenager before his first kiss!

But, the water did its job, and Voila! So did I!

YES YES YES!!!

POO POO IN THE POTTY, POO POO IN THE POTTY!!!

When the doctor came in, I was so excited, I think I may have peed in my pants. I don't recall her asking me if I had gone, but I do remember telling her "I did potty in the potty!"

Again, I only remember her smiling and saying good! But, I am sure she must have been thinking, "Good job!", like she would to a five-year-old, because obviously, I was acting like one. I was so thrilled!!!

It was now time to go home!

"My nipples, my nipples!!!"

Remember the wedding appointment the husband had with JLO? Aka the passport appointment on the day the baby arrived?

As it so happened, the appointment was at 0930 and the location was pretty close to our hospital. As luck would have it, little P, daddy's little boy that he was to grow up to be, arrived in the nick of time for the appointment!

Yes, daddy got to see and hold his creation, while he also got to get to the passport office just in time for his appointment, and went and told the officer in-charge that he should hurry up, because his hours-old son was waiting for him! All's well that ends well!

Any way, back to me...!

So, before the milk came in, one extremely sweet head nurse reminded me that I had to feed the baby colostrum, the super-rich pre-milk, that's called liquid gold. This is very very thick in nature, and extremely difficult to suckle, and is in very small quantities, just in tune with the tiny little creature's even more tiny stomach.

Whilst all the pom pomming was going on, head nurse realised that the baby needed a bit of help, and came back with, guess what?!

She returned with a syringe! Ummmm, Are you going to prick my boobs with a needle?!

No, smart ass! Wait and watch, she said!

Quickly, she took the needle off the syringe, only to expose the open-mouthed vial and the lever. Okay, what next...?!

As I watched open-mouthed, much like the syringe, she planted it on my breast, and PULLED!!!

If any of you watch FR.I.E.N.D.S, and I assume you have, and hence you will recall Phoebe going, "MY EYES, MY EYES!!!", when she finds out about Monica and Chandler; this was me. Except, that I found myself screaming, "My nipples, my nipples!!!"

Two things happened at the same time. One, the off-white colostrum flowed into the syringe, which was promptly lapped up by little P (he may have even licked and smacked his lips, I don't know!).

Two, my stomach felt an intense and horrible cramp which made me shriek even more. Turns out, this was a sign given to the uterus to contract back to its original shape, slowly and gradually. Err, thank you, uterus? For making me scream like a wimp!

Or the next few hours, till the water melons took over, head nurse would come and do this exercise for me. Which was great, because as much as I wanted to breastfeed, I couldn't get myself to put a syringe onto myself and scream and shout in pain like a banshee!

But wait, this was me, right? The syringe had to bring in some excitement, of course. So, head nurse tells me, you have to keep pulling your nipples out with this syringe every few hours, because yours are flat/inverted.

Okay, cue, me looking down: hey, I didn't know you guys were not the right shape! To think that you folks come in different shapes! Who knew, huh?!

What's those water melons things on my chest?!

The first few hours were a haze, quite literally. The baby was snoozing, thank god, because so was I. The painkillers were damn good, I think in hindsight. I should have taken some for future purposes, when I want to run away from the toddler tantrums and the peepee waving and touching! ;)

We had deliberately chosen a smallish hospital, or rather, nursing home, in medical parlance, because we were a bit uncomfortable with the big corporate "advice and follow up" you get in the name of medicine.

We wanted sweet old Maharashtrian nurses to help us, and not coat-clad snooty ones, we were that finicky. I was hell bent on breastfeeding and knew for sure that those old aunties will know the way to go about it.

Luckily, for us, we didn't have many visitors, which was a blessing. Just like any other new mom, I wasn't too comfortable with loads of people coming in and all that touching and holding the baby, and kissing, OH MY GOD!!!

I would have nightmares thinking, oh dear, all those people are going to kiss the baby now that he's out of my womb and has to defend for myself in this ugly rotten world! sob!

Again, luckily, nobody kissed little P. Maybe because they had seen me give them sneaky little dirty looks, or maybe because people are more aware now, and realise that some serious germs *can* be passed on. Who cares?! the fact that his milky fat chubby cheeks were left untouched, was more than enough for me, protective mamma bear that I had become.

Any way... as some of you know, the milk takes a few days to "come in", as they say. I had read about this, and could feel it myself it wasn't "in" yet.

But, of course, in my life, nothing is as simple, right?! So, every couple of hours, until almost 2.5 days had passed, every nurse on a new shift would come and pom pom me and say," Has it come in yet?"

Errr, no, but thanks for pom pomming my breasts, you strange lady. It was nice knowing you too!

My doctor had given me strict instructions that I had to pass the "stool test" before leaving, which in layman's terms means you have to stand up, go to the toilet and poop by yourself, if you want freedom from the hospital. No bed pans, no nothing. You had to (wo)man up, and do the big job in the big pot. Yep, poo poo in the potty!

For one whole day, I was scared shitless, pun intended, to not eat anything, because the prospect of standing up, and walking to the loo was giving me goosebumps.

It would take the husband forever to help me change sides, because I would scream in anticipation as soon as he would touch me, and more so, because I was still quite numb, waist down. This was an irony, you feel numb, but there's horrible pain.

In the meantime, yet another shift change, and yet another pom pom, "Is it there yet?"

And, this time, after what felt like a zillion pom pomming of the cow-like udder, EUREKA! IT'S THERE!!!

Yes, yes, yes!!! Aah, no wonder, I thought I had suddenly grown water melons on my chest.

Bye bye, 40DD, hello! 42 GG!!

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.