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!

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 poopy diaper on the restaurant floor is ours, thanks!

I love travelling. So does the husband.

And, so did WE, when we were dating. That was all we did, travel all over India, every time we wanted to meet, because we were in a long distance relationship, and meeting each other meant running away to some cool place for a week, and travel travel travel.

We did this for 3 years and spent shit loads of money and enjoyed every second of it.

And, then...

WE GOT MARRIED!

Which suddenly meant, money became sacrosanct and hard-earned. Travel suddenly became a leisurely activity that required us to spend money.

I frankly don't know why this happens. I don't know why money takes on such different meaning once you get married and the fun out of travel is taken away and thrown away to the dogs.

Then, one day, little P arrived and money took on a different meaning. It was for little P, everything that we had and everything that we bought. Every little experience seemed incomplete without him, and there was no way we were having fun without him, even though he didn't understand anything that was happening around him.

When little P was around 4 months old, and had set into a long-craved routine, boredom hit me long and hard. Life had a fixed routine to it, and motherhood, suddenly, became boring because it had the same thing going for it day in and day out.

So, we thought, let's travel!

We had planned the whole thing down to a T. We were to spend 1 week in Kerala, a place we had long been planning to visit.

The thing with travelling with a baby is, IT'S BLOODY EXPENSIVE!

I mean, shockingly expensive. You need to plan for every contingency that might hit you, and then there's a back up for every back up!

Even the second back up needs to have a back up, because, God forbid, what if everything goes to the dogs, and you are left without any back ups?!

Because we were travelling for the first time with little P, we were extremely anxious. To say that our anxiety levels had hit the roof, would be putting it lightly. We were both very close to dying of a sudden stroke, we were so panicky as first time parents and debutant travellers as parents.

We didn't want to take any risks. We had some idea of the weather, but we didn't want to get caught in a situation where we would be left paralysed for lack of something.

And so, we packed like crazy. In the end, we literally packed little P's ENTIRE WARDROBE! And, boy! does he have a lot of clothes?!

We packed summer wear, winter wear, clothes for a rainy day, clothes for a Sunday, and a Friday! We had 2 large suitcases, and one tiny one. It's easy to guess which one had mine and the husband's eight clothes in total. We were ready to sleep in our underwear, if need be, but there was no way we were going to fall short of clothes for little P!

We were even prepared for lack of laundry services, so we packed in some more! Clothes were coming out of pores, my god! The sheer amount of clothes!

We even went ahead and bought a pram, because, we were idiots who thought it would be easier to travel with one!

The day arrived. Our flight was at 6am, so we had to wake up little P at 2am, because, we stay a million light years away from the airport.

This was also the first time I would be feeding in public, and I was shit nervous and scared. I ordered what's called a nursing cover online. Baah! What a fool was I to think that such a tiny piece of cloth, which offered "complete coverage to you and baby; now feed in public in a modest manner", would actually cover even my hand!!!

So, I literally took things in my own hand, and created one! It was so big, that it could actually cover my entire 100 kgs! Woohoo!

Anyway, at the airport, as soon as we were done with our security, it was as if an alarm went off in little P's head. It was time for his feed, and I was one nervous mama bear. I kept looking around, going from place to place, in order to calm him down. But obviously, nothing worked.

I finally managed one somewhat lonely corner, and sat down with him and covered myself. I was sweaty and had goose bumps from what would happen next. What if someone saw me feeding him? What if he exposed me a little? Or too much? What if he threw a tantrum? What what what?

Nothing happened, and he fed like a dream! This was it, this had to be the most liberating moment of my life,  feeding in public. Nobody even realised what I was doing, or even if they did, nobody bothered.

Any hoo.. On to the trip.

To say that the trip was uneventful and boring, would be an understatement. WE DID NOTHING. Yep, for 6 days, we were cooped inside the hotel room because "what if?!"

The what if ruined our time as a family, as a vacationing family, rather. We would just step out thrice a day to eat, that's all. This had turned to be a nightmare vacation, the worst of our life together.

Only one exciting thing happened...

Those who know me will know that I have a freakish sense of smell and hearing. I have been called a dog and snake, it's that strong.

So, we are on our way back, at the airport lounge. This was a smallish airport, with a new food court and we were too excited to be the first patrons there. Yeah, life had become so boring that silly things like these excited us.

We sat down to eat, when the husband looks at me.

ME: What?

HUSBAND: Nothing. (staring at me)

ME: WHAT?! TELL ME!

HUSBAND: YOU farted!

ME: WTF! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!

HUSBAND: Don't I know you?!

ME: I thought it was you!

HUSBAND: Err, no!!

Okay, then, may be it was neither of us, and it was someone around us.

We continued to eat, when, again, BOOM!

And, then, it dawned upon us. that our genes had been passed on to our little creation, our little P, who was turning out to be a big farter! Mr FARTYPANTS P!

Fine, no problem, we said, and continued to eat.

ME: sniff, sniff! What's that smell?

HUSBAND: What? I didn't smell anything.

ME: Is it the food? This smell is damn strange!

HUSBAND: YOU farted!

ME: WTF! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!

HUSBAND: Don't I know you?!

ME: I thought it was you!

Hold on, one second! This little P is at it again! Yikes!

But, this time, we had more in store for us! yes, you guessed it!  IT WAS THE BIG P, THE NUMBER 2! IN THE MIDDLE OF A MEAL. SLAM DUNK IN THE MIDDLE OF A NEW RESTAURANT!

I love being a mom! There's nothing better than cleaning a poopy bottom on a restaurant floor (because there was no bathroom!), praying like crap that nobody from the management will figure what you are sneakily up to and throw you out of their premises for messing with their hygiene standards and putting off the rest of their patrons!

YOU GOT SOME MORE POOPY DIAPERS FOR ME?! BRING THEM ON!!

Here's what today's in-house yoga session looked like!

Just like any other new mom, I barely have time to myself.

Having a shower that allows me to wash the soap off my body is a luxury, and so is having lunch, especially one that isn't interrupted by little P's poop time.

It's a thing with these babies, I tell ya! They can sense when their mommies sit down to eat, and POP, there you go! IT'S FUN TIME!

Cleaning a toddler is an amazing test of your patience. For some beautiful reason, they hate being cleaned. God only knows what they like about running around with a bottom that stinks and isn't washed. My god, the glee on their face is unmatched!

New moms, especially ones like me, also barely find the time to exercise. EXERCISE?! WASSAT YOU SAY?!

ME NO EXERCISE. ME ONLY EAT!

The fantastic thing about being a mom to a toddler is that you don't have to take out time to exercise! The constant running behind them sure burns a lot of calories. Not just that, there are a lot of other exercises you didn't know you could do, during your time running around like a screaming gorilla behind your little tyke.

Here's what my today's yoga session looked like. Pay attention, ladies, I got in some serious workout today!

1) CARDIO: ran behind little P post breakfast, all the way from the balcony to the washroom and back, just to clean his tush. Ours is a somewhat big place compared to the rest of Mumbai, and that's only because we live 15,000 kms away from downtown Mumbai and take 1 week to reach there. Or at least, that's what it feels like!

2) ARMS, WITH WEIGHTS: Lifted little P, who's a tad bit over 9 kgs, all the way to the bathroom to get him to bathe. Once done, lifted him out again, to a warm bedroom to wipe him. He has this habit of running out of the bathroom naked, all wet, and slippery and shedding water like a dog. Runs out all the way to the balcony, to show the world that he's had a shower and the 30 kgs of dirt that he had beneath his finger nails and under his neck is now clean. Only to get dirty 20 seconds later.

3) SIT UPS, IN TWO SETS OF 20: Giving a bath to little P is no mean task. He loves having one, only and only if the water is running, because, what do you know, he's a Bollywood heroine who loves splashing in water in a transparent chiffon saree!

So, the task involves setting up a pail full of water for him to play with, while I sit down and stand back up again pouring mugs full of water over his body and attempt to bathe him. I am not too sure how successful I am in doing this, because he does look clean for a couple of seconds.

4) AQUA AEROBICS: In the bath, it is a ritual of sorts to dance and shake to some weird nursery rhyme, because, apparently, I look entertaining while doing this, especially, in the bath!

So, while The Lord of the Bathroom, little P, attempts to himself pour water over himself, I have to shake my booty to "I am a little teapot, short and stout". The poor fellow doesn't know that I do look like a teapot dancing like this in the bathroom.

I am somewhere scared that I am ruining him for life and scarring him, but I can't help it, because it allows me to give him a bath every day. Else, it's like being a mommy to a little piggy OINK OINK!

5) LUNGES; Potty time is exercise time. That is, his potty time is my exercise time, just to be clear!

My one hand is on his bottom, other on him, trying to hold him and keep him in place. One leg is pushed backwards, trying to keep my balance, because we are doing this suspended mid air. The other leg, is somehow keeping a firm grip on a packet of wet wipes, lest the little monkey grab it out of my hands and run amok with a dirty bottom all around the face and plant his bottom on the sofa!

6) THIGH BUTTERFLY: Nap times remind me of the World War. Only the guns and cannons are missing, though their sound isn't. Because a tired, screaming toddler is capable of screaming louder than the combined sounds of those two!

So, in order to get him to sleep, that is, when he isn't being fed to sleep, he needs to be rocked whilst being cradled. Bless my thunder thighs, that can take his weight and constantly rock for an eternity. At the same time, I get in some quick exercise for my arms too, because juggling him when he fights his sleep is a scene you don't want to miss! He will throw himself backwards, arch his back, head butt you, kick the crap out of your sensitive body parts, but you have to hold onto him, in case he injures himself, or worst, falls off the bed.

7) SOME MORE THIGH STRETCHES: I don't let go of my habit to exercise while sleeping during the night, as well. My little P likes to rest his legs ON SOMEBODY, because, you know, he was a maharaja in his previous life and is used to such lavish luxuries. He has one person on night time duty sleep next to him in such a manner, so that The Lord of Night Time Kicks CAN REST BOTH HIS LEGS ON MINE.

Therefore, every night, all night, I sleep with my legs extended all the way to the moon and back, just so he can sleep peacefully. And, who said they pain in the morning?! Oh no, there isn't an iota of pain!

8) DESI-STYLE ZUMBA: We spend our post lunch time doing desi-style zumba. Yep, we have to burn those calories that we didn't consume you see! because, while mommy was trying to eat, I did some poop-poop. And, once she was done cleaning me, she said she was in no mood to go back to her boring lunch, because mine was such a sight! She is so sweet, I love her!!!

And, so, I make her dance, all bhangra and hiphop and bootyshake, either to some weird Punjabi song that she repeatedly plays for me, or my favorite nursery rhyme! It doesn't matter, she still looks so cute and so funny, trying to move with so much fat on her, just like a mamma elephant!

Sometimes, just to add to her workout, I cry and cry and make cute faces, just so that she can pick me up and dance WHILE CARRYING ME! It's so much fun, I tell you! I know it's fun, because she makes really tragic faces and sweats a lot.

MY MOMMY IS THE BEST!

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!  

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?!