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!

IT'S OKAY - Stuff I wish I was told about parenting

As a new mom, I am constantly questioning myself. Even now, at almost-16 months, there are times when I feel like I am walking around with a big question mark on my forehead.

When little P has been crying for a long time, I fail to zero down on why he's crying. I try every trick in the trade to calm him, cajole him, talk to him, hell, even distract him. But, nothing works, and I am back to thinking, "I am a useless mom for not being able to get my child to stop crying!"

There are many a times I feel like I have been cheated upon, short changed, even. I feel like I wish I was told a lot of things about pregnancy and parenting. The real deal, you know? Not the stuff about sleepless nights and constant pee and poo.

Those things, everyone knows. But how many actually know what it's like to be a parent. Of all the advice that you get, how much is actually useful and makes sense?

1) I wish I was told that it's OKAY to have an abnormal pregnancy. I felt so judged when I was pregnant and having a tough time with the constant complications that arose. Everybody thought I was having a gala time staying at home and laid up in bed all day. Some even went to the extent of saying I was getting really fat because I was laid up all day and that I would have a really fat baby. Really?! Is that what you would say to someone who was sick and bed ridden? Then why differentiate just because I am pregnant?

2) It's okay to have a caeserean. What is it with women who gave birth the way nature intended us to? Why do they feel they have the right to judge those who delivered via "assisted childbirth"? I went through the whole shebang of labour and the pushing stage. But nothing came out. I felt cheated at that point. But, the intention was to have a safe delivery, my ego be damned.

How would you feel, if you sat on the pot for 5 hours and pushed that whole time, knowing that there was something inside that was dying to come out, yet it never did? Now, multiply that pain a million, heck, even a trillion times, and imagine that you are pooping a football from your frontal "stuff", and not the posterior!

Painful, much?! 

3) It's also okay to be in pain for a while. Or, in my case, a really long time. I took 6 whole months to recover completely. I only started walking at normal pace at around 4 months, I was in so much pain. I got myself checked, but there was nothing wrong. Yet, I was in pain.

And, so, I had to delay a lot of things that I could have started doing earlier. Like exercise. Or household chores.

But, all I got was judgmental responses. " Oh, c'mon! Nobody ever has so much pain!" You are making it up, it's not possible!"

Fine, I made it up, okay? Because I wanted to delay the process of losing weight. Right?! What a dumbass! Who in their right mind would make up such stuff?!

Which leads me to:

4) It's okay to be fat for a while. It really is. Good on you for having lost all your pregnancy weight as soon as your baby popped out! And look at those washboard abs of yours! I wish I could punch you, cuz it surely wouldn't hurt, right?! Steel abs, eh?!

What is it with fat women who think they can call others fat? Kettle calling griddle black?! Hypocritical much?!

I had this sooper fat woman tell me "IF YOU DON'T LOSE WEIGHT RIGHT AWAY, YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LOSE IT!"

YES, JUST LIKE YOU, you pretentious judgemental cow!

5) I really really wish someone had told me that breastfeeding is bloody hard work. Just to make it work is so difficult. It is such an emotional roller coaster!

Nobody ever tells you how tough it is. or how painful! Those who breastfed say some stupid condescending stuff, and those who didn't, they think formula is the answer to everything and whatever you are doing is absolutely wrong and breastfed babies are forever hungry.

These formula champions could even feed you a bottle, they are so stubborn!

6) I also wish that someone had told me that it's okay if you have to give formula. It's not the end of the world. A baby needs its nourishment, and if formula is providing it for whatever reason, so be it!

Would I judge you if you always ate rice thrice a day, and I didn't?!

7) It's equally okay if someone doesn't want to breastfeed. For whatever reason. It's her choice. Let's not get on our high horses and judge her. If her child wants to come back 18 years later and sue her, that's her problem. Life doesn't end just because somebody you know isn't breastfeeding her baby.

8) The most I wish for is that if somebody had told me how emotional the early days are. In hindsight, I think I cried more than little P! The hormones, the lack of sleep, the pain of the operation, the inability to lay down and get back up without any help, all those debilitating things can really pull you down. You wish someone had told you that it's okay to let the emotions take over.

9) And when the baby gets his own personality, it's also okay to lose the plot at times. I always keep thinking I am becoming a certified nut case. There are days, when I am really really close to tears. And, then, there are some, when I've actually shed them. I wish someone had told me that it's okay to feel this way at times. It doesn't mean you are a bad mom. It just means you are human and have feelings and that it's healthy to express them and not bottle them up.

10) It's equally okay to sometimes let housekeeping on the back burner. In my case, it's ALWAYS ON THE BACK BURNER. Maybe because I am lazy, or had a ceaserean, or because I feel mental most days! Who cares?! I am certain my priorities are bang on, and I won't let anyone question that.

11) The baby - it's okay if your baby ISN'T LIKE HERS. OR HER SISTER'S. Or the other kids in the family. Be proud that your baby is different! Who wants a baby that came out of a mold meant for cupcakes?!

Again, I will admit that I have received a lot of judgy-pant comments about little P and his ways. A number of people I know too well have made random comments about his sleep. IT'S ALL MY FAULT, according to them.

An experienced aunty told me that all the babies in her family would sleep for 7 hours straight in the day?! HUH? DID YOU JUST MAKE THAT STUFF UP?!

What?! He eats adult food! tsk tsk! What?! He's never had food out of a mixer/grinder?! tsk tsk

Err, do you notice that he chews and doesn't gag even though yours still gags at the age of 3?! tsk tsk

I AM GAGGING!

12) More than anything else, I really really wish that someone that told me that it's perfectly normal and natural to "listen" to your baby. Babies are intelligent peeps, I tell ya! We undermine them just because we have a college degree, and they don't.

I am so glad I always allowed myself to be driven and led by little P and not try and concoct my own logic about what I "thought" he wants.

I got told to let him go between feeds for FOUR HOURS! Which self respecting baby would go hungry for 4 hours?! Not even formula-fed babies go that long!

Another intelligent soul told me to feed him only once he'd really started crying! Hold on, I thought there's only crying! I had no idea there were levels of crying, like really started is level 3! CRAZY!

I would make it a point to talk to these people, but it's so difficult to maintain eye contact with them, because they refuse to get off their moral high horse.

In the meantime, I am going to pretend I like to exercise, and that my child sleeps like a dream and that we all have food out of a mixer. Does that make you happy now?

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

The beginner's guide to raise a toddler and be a homemaker

Life with a toddler is a little bit of this and little bit of that.

There are good days and not-so-good ones.

Some days are dirty, with everything looking and feeling and seeming to be dirty.

Others, not so much.

Some days, little P is the cutest cuddle monster you can lay your hands on.

Others, he's just a little monster!

Life with a toddler teaches you lot of things, It gives you patience, it makes you the daddy, or rather mommy, of innovation.

You are constantly looking for ways to entertain him while you do the chores, or at least, pretend to do them, because you don't like doing them.

The easiest of tasks take forever, while the most difficult of them will suddenly be over in seconds!

I've only been a mom for a little over a year now, but I have seen so many changes in myself, I wonder what's gonna happen to me by the time he's 20 and ready to leave us in search of his own identity?!

So, I thought, let me see how some tasks now unfold after having had a baby.

These tips will definitely not help any mother out there, so, please refrain from looking for any help here, okay?!

Most days, I have no idea how I get from BEGIN TASK to END TASK! It just happens! As if I had a magic wand with me!

HOW TO CHANGE YOUR TODDLER'S CLOTHES/DIAPERS IN 30 MINUTES

You read it right. It is indeed 30 minutes, and not 3. No self-respecting toddler will allow you to change his diaper in such a short span of time.

Take out diaper from toddler's almirah, which is bursting at the seams with a million clothes and a zillion diapers. NOTE TO SELF: MUST CLEAN THIS TOMORROW. OR DAY AFTER. OKAY, SOME TIME THIS MONTH!

Get toddler to the bed, so you don't have to bend. Turn to pick up diaper, and TODDLER IS MISSING!

He was here a second ago! Do a quick recce of the house shouting his name, but zero results! 

Come back to the room, only to find toddler hiding behind the almirah YOU PASSED on your way!

DUH!

Repeat step 2 twice, before you finally manage to get a grip on him.Open diaper. By now, toddler has decided this is a good time to PEE ON THE BED!

You quickly use your mommy x-ray scanning eyes to look for a cloth that can absorb the pee, so it doesn't hit the mattress!

BEEP! TOO LATE! You end up using your palms, cupped, so that you can catch the flying pee. Do a little whoop, because you saved the mattress!

Clean him, and pop the diaper on. FINALLY!

He's having none of this. He quickly kicks it away before you can strap it in place, to the left side of the bed. You follow him. Mind it, he's on the bed, and you aren't. So, you have to go around.

Okay, now you both are on the same side. You sit down in front of him. He runs to the right side! ^&@(@!($(@&

You do this 5 times, before realising you are an idiot and look like one. He's enjoying and you've just had your gym workout in less than 5 minutes.

He's challenging me, you think! How dare he?! I am the mommy!

Wait, where's the toothbrush I use to entice him to stay still for 5 seconds?!

Okay, put toothbrush in your mouth. Now, sing I am a little teapot, and this is the way we brush our teeth.

Toddler is enamored by your ability to look like a fool for 10 seconds! 

JOB DONE! THE DIAPER IS ON. 

IT ONLY TOOK 30 MINUTES AND YOUR SANITY!

Oh wait! It's backside-front! DAMMIT! REPEAT AGAIN!

HOW TO TAKE A SHOWER IN LESS THAN 2 MINUTES

First, pretend to play hide-and-seek, so you can skip away while he's hiding.

After 5 minutes, you realise this isn't working. He's figured you are up to something. The hot water will soon turn cold and you are stinking like a pig.

Fine, let me just go!

As soon as you shut the bathroom door, there are screams and shouts.

Open the door. Find your own mother standing outside, looking at you standing naked. FLASHBACK 20 YEARS AGO!

MOM,GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!

Oops, you realise she's trying to help you by distracting your toddler.

Okay, fine, you can stay here and watch me shower, SIGH!

By now, 30 seconds have passed, and the shouting is still on. You are soaked enough to quickly lather some soap.

The screams are getting louder! You grab your phone, kept right outside for emergencies like this, and with soapy hands, get to YouTube. 

Dammit! the phone just slipped. More screams and shouts! From me and toddler!

The water is now cold.

Somehow manage to retrieve phone, but BUMP YOUR HEAD on the bathroom table top.

Oh c'mon, nursery rhyme, just start already!

Toddler decides he wants another one, and not this. Repeat previous step, without the phone slipping off and you bumping your head.

Before the song is over, quickly apply what's left of dried soap in your hands on yourself, and pour the entire bucket of cold water over you at one go.

CURSE EVERYONE AND THEIR RELATIVES.

You are done!

Realise that you forgot to carry your towel with you, so walk out gingerly, all naked and dripping with soapy water, only to BUMP INTO MOM! BAAH! She's already seen you like this today. AND YESTERDAY. THE DAY BEFORE, AND BEFORE THAT AS WELL.

HOW TO KEEP A CLEAN HOUSE

Wake up in the morning, or rather, are woken up by toddler, who climbs over you to get off the bed and ends up kicking and poking you in your womanly parts.

Good morning, my cupcake! Thanks!

Almost trip, as the pile of clean clothes you dumped on the floor last night to fold and keep away TODAY, has magically changed its position from where you dumped it last night.

Glare at toddler, who has no idea why mommy is so happy early in the morning.

PROMISE TO SELF: I WILL CLEAN THIS AS SOON AS I AM DONE WITH BREAKFAST

Breakfast comes and goes. So does lunch.

Evening is here and the weather is so pretty. How on earth can anyone fold clothes when the sky is so blue?!

Enter night time. The pile has grown, because you washed clothes again today, and they are all dry and smell great. 

Then you recall, oh wait, these are clothes from Monday! Today is Thursday!

Dammit!

It's time to sleep now, you say. I am so not doing this right away. Too sleepy!

PICK UP CLEAN CLOTHES AND DUMP ON FLOOR.

Tomorrow morning, as soon as I wake up, I am hitting this pile of clothes with a revenge!

Or maybe, I can just take a REALLY BIG BED SHEET, and hide all these clothes under that! If I can't see it, nobody else can, right?!

And, just like that, TADAAA! THE HOUSE HAS BEEN CLEANED IN LESS THAN 10 SECONDS!

C'mon now, Be nice. Go ahead and thank me.

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!!!

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.

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!

Marrying Jennifer Lopez the day your wife has your baby

The thing with me was, that for the longest of time, and ever since I can recall, I always wanted to be mommy to a little girl, and not just one! No, I wanted twin girls.

Funny thing is, I say wanted as if twin baby girls are made-to-order and available for cash on delivery from your nearest God who is quite cool, because obviously, he has his own Android app through which you can order your babies with one click!

This is the real world, of course. Irony of all ironies, I had this weird call-it-what-you-will mommy intuition that this baby would be a boy. I would cry out in horror every time my palm lines or astrological stars or my numerological whathaveyou suggested, or rather, predicted, that I would give birth to a boy.

Let me clarify... I am not anti-boys. Boys are great, but it's what they do as little cheeky buggers with their things that I found appalling. Laugh all you want, but surely all that tugging of little peepees makes you cringe, doesn't it?!

So, going back, I was in labour, and I had no idea. I was barely dilated, so the doctor suggested brisk walk and lots of activity. No, not the sexual kind, because I am not Rachel from F.R.I.E.N.D.S and neither is the husband, Ross.

We went back to a friend's place, who had kindly given us shelter, because they were close to the hospital. The husband was a bit freaked out, not because of the impending labour, but because he had a passport appointment the next day, and we all know how hard that one is to come by! Babies can come and go, but an appointment for a passport is like waiting to marry Jennifer Lopez.

A la Cinderella, the clock struck 12 midnight and off we went to bed. It was barely 12:01, when I woke up wanting to pee. This was the beauty of pregnancy, this urge to pee constantly.

I should add, that a few days before this, I was happily attending a religious ceremony right outside our place, and was surrounded by loud drums and even louder chants and music. I did the mistake of venturing a bit too close to the drummer, and WHOOPS!! Got the biggest kick of my pregnant life in my you-know-where and ended up PEEING IN MY PANTS!!! In the midst of a religious function! WHAT BLASPHEMY!

Any way, back to Cinderella... I kept going to the loo every few minutes, slowly the urge to pee turning into a desire to the big job. But the damn thing JUST WOULDN'T COME!

Suddenly, like a Eureka moment, I went, "OMG, I think I maybe in active labour!" All the signs were there, the horrible lower back pain, the constant urge to do a poo, the weird cramps all over my back and other gross bodily signs that I won't mention for your sake ;)

We timed the contractions, and boy, were they close?! Barely three minutes apart! We needed to get to the hospital NOW!!!

All that while, the husband kept asking, "Aaj raat jawan hai?", loosely translated as, "Tonight's the night?" But, what about my wedding with Jennifer Lopez aka passport appointment?!