NO, THAT'S DEFINITELY NOT CURRY! - Welcome to my house, here's what you will find

Hello and welcome to my world. And a bigger welcome to my house, dear neighbor. I know that we've known each other a long time, but you've never had the opportunity to come visit my place.

In the current circumstances, I will say it's your sheer luck, if you manage to walk out of this house without getting seriously injured, or die laughing. Whichever you choose.

But, please don't judge me. I was never like this, and neither was this house. We both looked good. We cleaned ourselves on a regular basis. We still do, except that, now, we hardly ever look clean!

So, like I said, don't judge us by the cover! Now that you are here, here's what you will find:

When you ring the bell, you will most likely hear shouting. Not the abusive kind, but it will most likely be me shouting at little P because he would have spilled something in the excitement of hearing the door bell ring.

Once you are in, you will be greeted by, what will, at first glance, appear to be a Tsunami. The code name for this Tsunami, and the many others that strike our house FIVE THOUSAND TIMES A DAY, is little P.

Yes, he is the same little monkey who is right this moment handing over his car to you, with shrieks of "CAAAAAR!!!", in a note of warm welcome. It's a good sign, trust me. 

Do come in!

Oh, no!! I AM SORRY, YOU STEPPED ON SOME SPILLED WATER! I think it's water, but, I wouldn't bet my life on it. I am not going to say what exactly it is, if it isn't water. Feel free to guess and die of shock!

Are you still wondering why I have some weird looking stuff on my nose, and why I still haven't bothered to wipe it?

That's milk shake. No, that's NOT HOW I DRINK MILK SHAKE!

It sits pretty there, because I have to do innovative stuff to get my toddler to eat and drink at times. So, yes, there's a good explanation for why I have a nose that makes me look like a fat and tragic clown.

Please, DO SIT!

OH NO!!! WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?!

Amidst giggles from little P, who thinks somebody let out a fart, I am trying to pretend no one farted, because I think I know that you just sat down on his little squeaky duckling! It's okay, we don't judge! We have a toddler at our place, there's no way we would ever judge anybody!

I am also sorry that I LOOK LIKE I HAVEN'T HIT THE SHOWER IN DAYS!

Trust me when I say this, I SHOWER TWICE A DAY! SO DOES LITTLE P!

But, alas, thanks to him and his toddler antics, both of us look like we desperately need a shower right now! I know that you might even be tempted to throw us both into a pool full of chlorinated water, because you think we stink!

Again, trust me, it's not us! In all likelihood, it's the little tidbits of food that little P keeps hiding under the sofa for doomsday, the day when he thinks his mommy might decide against giving him fresh food, and, God forbid, he will have to rely on the food store that he's opened behind the sofa, under the sofa, behind the bed, under his cot. BASICALLY, EVERYWHERE!

So, that's where that stench is coming from, because in my lazy avatar, I may just have forgotten to fish that food out today. Or yesterday. Or even the day before. Hence, the rotten stench!

Please don't go by how I look. I KNEW YOU WERE COMING! But, this is just how I dress these days. It doesn't matter whether I am home, or out for a walk. Or if the husband is back home after a month. 

I look the same all day, every day! The hair will definitely look like it is crying to be brushed. And washed. It's clearly forgotten what a wash feels like. It is planning to sue me for mental torture.

The red tee shirt that I am wearing...? I have 3 of these. To outsiders, it does look like I wear the same clothes everyday, I don't. I really don't. In fact, most days, I end up changing clothes thrice a day. Mostly because they will either have: poop, pee, mango shake, milk, some vegetable curry etc making weird doodles on my shirt.

Or, it will be because little P comes and wipes his face on my clothes while he's still eating. Like I said, please don't judge.

In all likelihood, you will end up sitting on the floor. One, because of the thousands of toy vehicles, broken and intact, that occupy a place of pride on the sofa; and, two, because there's some suspicious looking sticky stuff on the sofa. It's curry, I assure you. I can even sit on it, just to ease that frown off your face!

It could also be because little P is funnily too possessive of the sofa. He promptly kicks us off it, the second we lay our bums on it. He will keep kicking till we get off. 

Therefore, in order to keep our friendship alive, and to keep your bum in one operative condition, I will suggest you sit on the floor.

WAIT!!!

Let me first clean that sticky thing on the floor, as well. NO, THAT'S DEFINITELY NOT CURRY. Ermm, as of this moment, I cannot confirm what it is. 

Now, that you have somewhat settled, I am actually thinking of asking you to stay longer, just so that I can go and take a leak. Hell, maybe even shower!!!

The ABC of P - Pregnancy and Parenting

I've been thinking, what if everything that happens in and around pregnancy and parenting could be fit into the ABC. Just 26 characters and what each one stands for, during those 9 months and the rest of your life.

A - ADVICE

This one is number one, obviously because it's A. But, more than that, it's because the second you announce to the world that you are pregnant, the advice starts pouring in. You suddenly are trending on the advice graph, because everyone is talking TO YOU, ABOUT YOU.

Mind it, very rarely will you come across advice that will actually HELP YOU. Mostly, it will just be well-meaning strangers and relatives and friends giving you tid bits about them and their aunty's mumm'y neighbor's uncle's wife's pregnancy which WAS THE SAME, OH MY GOD!

Even the molecules of Hydrogen and Oxygen in your glass of water will have advice for you, JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE PREGNANT AND ARE LOOKING FOR ADVICE!

B - BUMP, BABY, BUM AND BREASTS

Bump - everyone will want to touch it. Ditto, the baby. The other two, not so much. Sorry, breasts, yes. Once you deliver, EVERYONE IN YOUR DELIVERY TEAM will touch them to feel for milk.

The bum? well, It gets REALLY BIG and that's why it gets honorary mention here. And, it takes forever to knock the fat off it. REFER TO U - UNDERWEAR

ALSO, BAMBOOZLED

That's because the A-ADVICE you get is so useless, you feel like you've been bamboozled! Nobody tells you the real thing. Everyone gives anecdotal evidence, but nobody offers any intelligent advice on how to tackle a problem.

Ohhhh! You are going to miss sleep!

Okay, if so, then why don't you tell me ways on how I can GET SOME SLEEP?!

C - CHILD BIRTH

The D-day you've been waiting for is here. And you are shitting bricks. And then you pop out a football from your "down there". Yes, okay, need I say more?

ALSO, CAESAREAN. Considered to be an "easy" option for child birth. Except that, it isn't. The pain lasts for months. And, there's always a weird-shaped lower tummy that hangs over.

D - DADDY

The love of your life now has a new love and you are okay about it. Mush! It's sheer bliss to see daddies holding their babies and smelling their hair and that lush baby smell.

E - EASY

Everyone tells you it's easy. It isn't, okay? It's somewhere in between. Just accept it and move on.

ALSO, ENERGY, OR THE LACK OF IT

Pregnancy can be hard on some women. There's no "glow". There's only a "blow", as in body blow, because everything aches!

F - FAT

This one is for me, not for the fellow mommies who've gone back to shape.

We gave birth. TO A PERSON. It's okay to be fat for a while, at least till you are feeding that person.

ALSO, THE F***, You will say this A LOT! In the initial days, when you are getting over the shock of everything that no one told you about (READ A - ADVICE).

Once your baby turns into a toddler, you will find yourself replacing the F*** with FLUSH, FISH, FREAK, FAN. Anything that starts with 'F', because it's only when the 'F' leaves your tongue, do you realise that you would rather not complete the sentence.

G - GOOF UPS

There will be many. Inside out pants. Backside-front diapers. Inside out Tee shirts, yours, not the baby's. Because the baby was crying and you didn't want to rush out naked to ask Daddy for help.

H - HIPPOPOTAMUS

This is also for me. I feel like one. I will eventually get over it, ONE DAY.

ALSO, HORROR MOVIE

Because, life suddenly feels like one. Parenting is hard work and you don't get any bonus or "good job" cards. You constantly feel lost and scared and are forever questioning yourself.

I - AS IN I, ME, MYSELF

You tend to forget yourself once the baby arrives. And, that's okay. You WILL HAVE TIME once he's 20 years old.

J - JUST LIKE THAT

And, just like that, he will start sleeping through, Or take to potty training. Or start walking/talking/crawling. Parenting is full of beautiful surprises.

K - KICKS

During pregnancy, from the inside. Once they are out, THEY CONTINUE TO KICK YOU! While changing diapers during their infancy stage, just because they life how their legs move when they kick!

And, as a toddler, they will kick just because they like the way you screamed like a wimp when you were kicked.

L - LOVE

The moment you lay your eyes on your baby, that's pure, eternal love. No amount of pee, poo and vomit will ever make you think, "let's go on a break". No. THIS IS IT. Time for the husband to take a back seat!

M - MILK

You will find yourself talking about this till your baby is 6 months old. It will feature in every random conversation you will have.

ALSO, MOM, MOTHER

Because, you will suddenly have so much respect for her. You will feel ashamed and embarrassed for things you may have said to her in your teenage years.

MOM, I AM SO SORRY AND SO THANKFUL. This will play in your head, over and over again.

N - NEVER SAY NEVER

To anything. Because, life comes full circle. You will find yourself sitting in the middle of the day with a pot as your hat, even though all this buffoonery was below your standard.

Kids make destiny bite you in the bum, okay? SO, SMILE AND PRETEND TO FEED THAT POWDER BOTTLE!

ALSO, NO

You will find yourself saying this TWENTY THOUSAND TIMES  A DAY!

NOOOOO! DON'T LICK THE CARPET! NOOOOO! DON'T EAT THAT SHOE! NOOOOO! DON'T PUT YOUR HAND IN YOUR OWN POOP!

O - OH MY GOD

REFER TO F***, as OMG will also be a sound replacement for WTF?!

You will OMG a lot! OMG, THERE'S VOMIT ON MY SHIRT AND I KEPT THINKING WHAT ON EARTH STINKS SO MUCH!

P - PEE PEES

This one is for fellow mommies to little boys. They start touching theirs WAY TOO EARLY! I was hoping the touching wouldn't kick in till teenage years. Sigh. What was I thinking?!

Q - QUESTIONS

Talking toddlers have a way of asking the most inane questions. What do dogs eat? Why is aunty thin and you are fat? Where do babies come from?

'NUFF SAID!

R - REASONS

You will constantly find yourself defending your parenting choices. So, there will be reasons for everything that you do, that others may deem "wrong", because they "NEVER DID IT THIS WAY IN THEIR TIME".

S - SEX, OR THE LACK OF IT

I am NOT commenting on this any further!

T - TODDLER TANTRUMS

Aahh, I end up finding myself in the midst of one every five minutes! They sure are fun!

One of these days, I am definitely pulling my own hair!

U - UNDERWEAR

Big, ugly, scary ones. The ones your great great granny wore for her first night. Because, your B - BUM will achieve gargantuan proportions.

V - VALUE

Everything in life takes a new meaning. Having a baby teaches you so many things, the most of all being, value for yourself, your partner, your marriage, your parents. It makes you a better person.

W - WOW

REFER, OH MY GOD. You will say this a lot. Wow, he's used up all his pants today! Wow, he ate my lunch and threw his behind the sofa!

X - XYLOPHONE

Because NO OTHER WORD THAT MAKES SENSE STARTS WITH X!

You can replace this with X-ray, if you want!

Y - YES

REFER NEVER SAY NEVER. Pants that have projectile vomit on them? SURE, YES, I will clean them.

Try to put him to sleep for the FIFTH TIME in the last 2 hours?! yes, I will do it.

Z - ZOMBIE

NEED I SAY MORE?!?!

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...

"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!

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!

He's hungry! No, he's wet! Nonono, look, he's pooped!

Day 2 dawned upon us, although I don't think we were in the mental state to figure out if it was dawn or dusk, or for that matter, whether we were even alive!

There was, needless to say, no sleep, whatsoever. I was in horrible pain and couldn't move an inch without silently crying in pain or without the husband's, or mom's help. I couldn't turn sides, let alone get up and walk.

The baby, of course, would let out a piercing cry every couple of minutes, once poo, once pee, sometimes hunger, most times, it was nothing, or at least it seemed like nothing.

I think, at some time, little P would just think, "Hey! They are all blissfully quiet and asleep for FIVE WHOLE MINUTES! Let me see what happens when I scream bloody murder!"

And Voila! He would let out a cry that would make all of us run to find out what was bugging him.

We slowly started getting visitors, much to my dismay. Go on, judge me, I am quite snooty! Baah! I just wanted the baby back inside my womb where no fat old aunties would come and pinch the life out of his cheeks.

Neither did I want "advice" from fellow, yet seasoned, mothers who told me to literally scream and shout at the top of my voice near my sleeping little P, because, you know, babies should be able to sleep even in a noisy room, else they develop "bad habits"!

He was ONE DAY OLD! I didn't care what bad habits were forming. There would be plenty of time to form those and break those, but right now, he's asleep and quiet. That's all that matters!

And then, there were those aunties, who thought, just because of their gender, they were allowed to watch me feed my baby and comment about how "BIG" I was and how the baby was making this noise and that noise.

Hey, aunty! See, that's the door on your right. Now help yourself!"

At first, I was hesitant, but then I thought, what the heck?! Let her stare, she's probably forgotten what boobs look like. I am just going to feed my baby, while you continue to shove your husband out the door, because he's a man and is forbidden to look at other women's breasts, while you can stare all you want, because that doesn't make me uncomfortable in the least!

But the next time you gobble and chomp down that dosa, I will humph and pumph about what a noisy eater you are and how big your plate is!

I had read up so much on breastfeeding. I had watched videos, I had tons and tons of material on me and in my head. But when the ground reality hit, I forgot every damn thing. The emotions were so overwhelming, that nothing made sense.

The fact that I had given birth and this baby was our creation and our responsibility was so poignant, that I was left paralysed and brain dead. Everything was on auto pilot, but I was clueless.

Feeding was becoming increasingly difficult, God knew why. The baby was being given top-ups with the help of a spoon, and little P was slowly getting used to the milk trickling into his mouth at a much faster speed than what his natural source of food could ever give.

New mom emotions are a horrible thing. They give you bad guilt when you need none, But the overpowering motherly instincts ensure that you want to do everything possible to provide love, comfort and nourishment to the little wonder that you help create and carry to term.

Little did I know, the events of those day would lay the foundation of my battle with breastfeeding for many many more weeks to come.

But the pig headed person that you know me to be, I would eventually, and very very slowly, but steadily, win that battle and emerge the winner. Hooray, watermelons!!!

"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!!