Toddlers' rules versus babies' drool

I sometimes think I am going mental. Like absolute mental. I-wanna-pull-my-own-hair kinda mental.

Okay, MOST TIMES, I feel mental. I am having a time tough with my toddler.

I don't know what is it. Maybe it's teething, maybe it isn't. Maybe it's a developmental phase. It's separation anxiety for all I know.

You know, the kinds when babies/toddlers realise that they are a different person than their mommies, and hence resort to sheer maddening tantrums to express their displeasure at the fact that mommy has "left them".

And, by "left them", I mean going to the loo to pee. Or poop. Or have water. Change clothes. Wash hands. You get the basic idea, I suppose.

So, yes, little P basically cries ALL DAY LONG, as soon as he realises that I am TWO STEPS away from him. And, so, he's stuck on my hip most of the time, or walking 1 step behind me, just to ensure that I don't run away.

The reason I am venting today, is because sometimes I miss the "easy" days of infanthood.

I say easy, because, "all" infants need, are food, comfort, and a clean tushi. THAT'S ALL.

There are no tantrums for "I want this bath time to go longer than the current 30 minutes!".

Or, loud screams if you delay in peeling off the mango and chop it into grab-able slices for little hands.

And, may the heavens help you if you try to pop a diaper or change clothes. MY GOD, THE SHEER HYSTERICS THAT FOLLOW!

You would think that toddlers generally are quite happy in running around the house with poop in their bottoms, with or without diapers.

Infants, on the other hand. AAAH! They cry and holler AS SOON AS they pee or poop. They can't stand the thought of being wet and dirty, they have so much dignity in them, bless them!

But, these little monster monkey toddlers! Gaah! They will pull the diaper/nappy/knickers from you and rush at the speed of a Concorde to the balcony, from where they will throw the diaper/nappy/knickers onto the head of an unsuspecting passerby!

SORRY, SORRY, SORRY! That was little P, yet again. For the fifth time this day.

It takes me ages, I kid you not, to get him dressed. First, I have to clean his REALLY REALLY DIRTY face, an act that needs me to hold him, because he will kick the crap out of me. Or push me. Or head butt me.

Yes, apparently, toddler boys are THIS FRISKY!

And, my God, don't even get me started on how dirty those little hands can get! wowza!

Infants, on the other hand, will LAY IN ONE PLACE, probably even snooze, while you change them. They won't move an inch! Aaah, I wonder what that feels like. To change somebody who's NOT A JELLYFISH THAT STINGS!

And the feeding! Oooh, easy peasy! yes, infants do feed quite often. And very little. But, it's so easy to feed them, irrespective of whether you breastfeed or formula feed.

They stay in one place and calmly feed. No distractions, no nothing.

They don't hold monster trucks IN THEIR HANDS WHILE THEY breast feed. And try to shove that down your bra and play peekaboo with the damn truck. HIDDEN INSIDE YOUR BRA. BETWEEN YOUR BOOBS!

Or a bottle of vicks vaporub.

Don't ask me about that one. Little P is obsessed with that one. And his FOUR BOTTLES OF baby powder. He holds onto them whilst asleep!

I mean, I know babies who have hugsy toys and teddy bears and what not. But, baby powder?! Seriously?! Whatever works for him!

At least till they are six months old, infants only need milk. And that makes our job so much easier! No 4 different kinds of food items at one meal, just because we are cranky and don't like the first three options that were served to us.

For infants, you pop the boob out, and you are sorted!

For a toddler, firstly, he himself is now capable of popping the boob out, thankyouverymuch!

Yep. They learn to do that. IN PUBLIC. PULL UP YOUR SHIRT AND TRY TO UNDO YOUR BRA. IN PUBLIC. UHUH!

So, if at all yours doesn't do, and you do pop it out, in all probability, s/he will come and bite you! Because, THEY ARE TEETHING!

When you go for a stroll, to burn off your post partum fat, your infant will happily either let you carry him, or sit in his pram and watch the world go by.

Your toddler?

First, he will throw a fit because he wants you to carry him, even though he is perfectly capable of walking. Walking my ass! He is perfectly capable of running away from you, in the middle of the road, giving you a heart attack, yet again!

Then, just when you huff and puff and look all idiotic pretending that you can walk with that toddler on your hip, your toddler will decide that it's time to get down NOW! IN TODDLERS' WORLD, NOW MEANS NOW!

NOT 0.00001 SECONDS LATER.

If at all, yours is still in his pram, he will most probably either try to STAND IN IT. Or, get down and push the pram himself. While you look like an idiot trying to push an empty pram, that's loaded with vegetables by now. Might as well put it to some use, eh?!

I don't know if infants and toddlers sleep any different. Mine is still up quite a lot through the night. The difference is that in the infancy stage, you can still get them to sleep, either by rocking them, or walking them, or feeding them.

But as toddlers, THEY DECIDE, OKAY? IT'S THEIR RULES. NOT YOURS. So, don't even pretend to think that you can get them to sleep when you want them to sleep, or worst, when you want to sleep yourself!

I now wonder, why is it that, when babies are babies, we want them to grow up, and then when they do grow up, we miss the baby stage!

Tonight, I may just have to hug the damn baby powder bottle and sleep.

The silly things that make a mom...

Only a mom can know the true beauty of doing mom-like things and saying mom-like sentences.

Some things, only mom are capable of doing, and these things perfectly describe motherhood and its experiences in few short words.

As a new mom, I find myself doing and saying lots of crazy things, which were "below" my creative level earlier. But, having said that, I find myself a lot happier when I do stupid things with little P now, than having done award-winning creative stuff earlier, which never made me content.

Like, drinking milk from a glass and "making" a white moustache for yourself, just so you can entice your toddler enough to drain his glass of milk.

Or pretending to feed the truck in his toy bag, just so that he follows suit and ends up feeding himself in the process.

These silly tasks are so fulfilling, yet so silly, that you wonder what made you "look down" upon them earlier. Because, nothing beats the smile on that face once you have created a perfect moustache on yourself.

As a self-confessed cheese addict, I am finding it hard now to not have any because of the weight-loss "program" I am on. I have to buy it, because I give it to little P as an additional source of calcium and fat. And, so, it gives me the jeepers creepers to see it lying in my fridge, but not having nay of it!

You know you are a mom when the cheese addict in you sees a packet full of cheese slices and pretend not to have seen it, because you bought it only for your toddler, and there's no way you are claiming it to be yours.

The weight loss program also means, I have to go easy on a lot of foods I was earlier allowing myself to eat. This includes leftovers of little P's breakfast, lunch and dinner, which, thankfully, weren't too much!

You know you are a mom when your toddler spits out a morsel and you quickly put it in your mouth, because you don't want him to eat food off the floor. But then, dammit! you are reminded of the diet, and baam! it's too late for you to spit out that absolutely mouth watering stuffed bread you made with lots of ghee! SIGH!

You know you are a mom when you open your bag at the grocery store to look for money, and lay down the following things on the counter: A PLASTIC COW, RATTLE, A HALF-BROKEN RUBIC'S CUBE, A DIAPER, A PRETEND PHONE.

And then, EUREKA!!!

NO, NO, NO, not the money. But the ABC board book that has  been missing from so long, you were convinced your toddler ate it!

Sleeping at night, I often wake up because I find myself being poked in the bottom by the horns of a STUPID PLASTIC STAG, that my little P held onto while he fell asleep. GAAH! HORNS IN THE BUM AT 2AM!!!

After having had little P, we have the chance to finally go meet family back in the husband's hometown. Here's the catch: I wasn't so excited about meeting the family after 4 years, than I was about little P being able to see FARM ANIMALS IN THE LIVE!

And, for me to show off my animal sounds skill that I have to little P! WOOHOO! He will finally know that how mommy moos like a cow and brays like a  donkey is actually how a cow and a donkey sound!

You know you are a mom when, on your anniversary, instead of buying sexy, hot lingerie online, you find yourself buying ugly granny pants because your toddler found the hole in your old ones and poked enough for it to become like a crater on bloody Mars!

As a mom, it's also okay to walk around the house, pretending that you are learning how to strut it like a super model, when you have a green-coloured plastic bowl atop your head and you are shaking your booty at the same time! I AM SEXY AND I KNOW IT!!!

I am also a typical mom, when I snooze for 5 minutes in the afternoon, holding TIGHTLY ONTO MY TODDLER, because he refuses to sleep and insists on playing. And, so, I pray like crazy that he doesn't get up and feel very guilty if I do manage to get 5 minutes of rest.

And, don't even get me started on kind of words and sentences I find myself saying these days. It's a good thing, because, one, I am so strict about any cuss words and slang language.

The bad, or rather, funny part, is that I find myself saying things I never thought anyone did. For example, it's perfectly normal now for me to say, " DON'T LICK THAT POWDER OFF YOUR FOOT!"

or

"Don't you put your finger in my belly button, or dad's!"

"DO NOT GO AND POM POM GRAMPA'S BOTTOM EVERY TIME HE BENDS DOWN!"

The last one has me dying LOL, but I have to set limits, and so, I find myself occasionally screaming those words out!

I also know I am just a normal mom, when I try and recall the lyrics to "wheels on the bus" at 2 am when I go to the loo!

Or when, I come across some suspicious-looking brown stuff on the floor, and touch it to figure out if it's a piece of fruit, OR POOP!!!

I know for a fact, that when I walk into the doctor's with kajal/kohl in just one eye, she's not judging me. Or laughing at me.

Or if she points to the rice in my hair. That's okay too. I am just being a mom.

Do I NEED ANY MORE advice?!

Pregnancy, child birth and child rearing are the most poignant of experiences in one's lifetime. Ironically, the sheer emotional magnitude of these stages in one's life either really bring a couple close together, or bring out some shocking differences between them, Differences, that up until that point, didn't really matter in the entire scheme of things.

It's also a time in life when one faces two extreme sets of emotions. On the one hand, is the excitement of becoming parents, whether first time, or fifth. The number doesn't matter.

On the other hand, are the anxiety and the doubts. Will we be good parents? Will we be able to provide for this little person who is going to be dependent on us for very many years to come?

As parents, it becomes second nature to second guess things, at least in the initial stages, because that little person is unable to explain to us what's bothering her.

So, we second guess every time there's a whimper or a howl. Did he pee? Is she suffering from colic? Too hot? Too cold? Toddler frustrations... and the list can go on and on.

Most parents almost always share these episodes/anecdotes with fellow human beings, mostly to gain a shoulder to cry on, a little bit of sympathy, a little bit of advice.

And, here's the tricky part. The thing with advice is: it's free, every body wants to give it, yet, there are few takers.

And that's probably because, in the name of advice, we tend to get judged a lot. And. that's one thing no parent will accept: the judgemental comments.

As parents. we all make mistakes. We all try to learn from them, and move on. We accept the mistake, we humbly apologise and we look ahead.

Nobody wants to be told how to raise their child. Not for any other reason, but the fact that I would like to do it my way. You've had your chance, now let me have mine, IN PEACE!

Here are a few things, rather comments aka advice, that really, I MEAN, MOTHER OF GOD, really get my goat:

1) You should be breastfeeding because breast is best

2) You shouldn't be breastfeeding because s/he will grow up to become a really dependent child

3) You are STILL breastfeeding?! AAh, no wonder, he's like blah and blah.

4) You should have started solids at TWO MONTHS! He's anyway going to grow up and eat crap.

5) You should let him cry. It'll teach him a few things in life!

6) DO NOT RESPOND when he screams and howls and brings the roof down. He'll eventually learn how to self settle

7) Oh no! Poor you! He's still not sleeping through. It's because you:

a)  breastfed or are still breastfeeding

b) he shares bed space with you

8) What?! You give him normal food like us adults, and not sugar-coated factory-made baby food?!

9) He's NOT A DIAPER baby?! You shouldn't be running behind him, cleaning his bottom all day.

10) Don't whisper when he's asleep. Shout and holler so he will learn to sleep surrounded by din.

11) Oh no! You run to him too quick!

12) Oh no! You are too protective. Once you have had 3.4.5 babies, you'll learn to let go.

13) Babies are manipulative people! Don't let him dictate terms! He should know you are the boss!



You know what?! I am okay with whatever I am doing, and horror of horrors, so is my baby! He's happy and content that I am still breastfeeding him, even though he bites me AT EVERY FEED. He's also okay with the fact that I gave him formula when he needed it. I am not going to jail for that, and neither will any other mom.

Ditto with sharing our bed. In fact, currently, it seems like we are sharing his bed, because he promptly kicks the crap outta us, as soon as he is a wee bit uncomfortable, even at 4 am.

Same goes for us responding to quickly and not letting him cry. He is the boss in our house, and he knows it, and we are all fine with it. He only knows how to cry, that's his natural way of communicating. No good will come by showing who's the boss.

As for food, He's not had one spoon of baby cereal. He's extremely happy with his adult food and so are we. No body has to spend hours in the kitchen making baby food for him, and it's so cool to travel this way with no worries about buying cartons and what not.

I am not a perfect mom. Neither is my boy a perfect baby. He has his bad moments, I have mine. My husband isn't a perfect daddy either. Yet, we all love each other and are "OKAY" with the way we are.

You should be too...

And yes, even if I have FIVE MORE kids, I will still be this finicky. And, even if I don't, who cares?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, yes,,, The BIG P.

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

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

YES YES YES!!!

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

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

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

It was now time to go home!

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!!

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?!

Should we name the baby Rafael, as in Nadal?

D-Day had finally arrived, much to my glee!

Yes, Yes!!! You guessed it, it was time to EAT EGG AND CHEESE WRAPS again! Make that a double please! I have no shame in admitting I can gobble two at a time ;)

This was our penultimate meeting with the doctor and it was a little difficult to accept that the next time we go there, it would also be the last time I would lay my hands on a egg wrap and not feel guilty about it. sniff sniff!!

Any how, here's another thing about pregnancy. The fastest road to divorce is the one you take in pregnancy when you have to zero down upon a name for the baby, and that's when you know that your spouse LOVES HIS FOLKS more than he loves you.

This moment, when this revelation is out in the open and is there to stay forever, is a time point in a married couple's life.

Of course, like all pregnant women, I had already decided on boy and girl names, probably from the time I got my two positive lines on the peeing stick. And of course, they had to be COOL NAMES, and definitely neither Tamil nor Bengali.

No way Jose! There would be no Muthu or Mishti! Oh nononono! This was my cupcake, I was the oven for NINE FRIGGING months. There's no way I could let the grampas and granmas take away my moment by giving the baby a real tragic name!

The husband, on the other hand, had already decided that he would VETO each cool name I threw across. He knew the real me, he knew I would come up with some Hollywood-inspired or F1 or tennis-inspired name.

Much to my dismay, before I could even suggest those names, he said no to Rafael, Pete, Steffi!!! HUH?! Did he not know who these people were?! Of course he did, but he was having none of them, or rather, their name sakes, in our living room.

This is also the time in your life when marriage politics comes into play. You have to make everyone happy, there's no denying that. And, by everyone, I mean the In-laws. And that's a tough nut to crack, ain't it?!

We have this tradition of naming babies after grandparents, sort of like an Indian version of George I and Louis XV. But my pseudo-intellectual half-Bengali genes were vehemently protesting against being mommy to a Swamy I or a Muthu III.

And neither was I going to be mommy to a Rabindranath junior or a Satyajit junior!

So, in the spirit of secularism, we decided to say byebye to Tamil and Bengali names and just came up with the letter 'P', because, it's mommy-in-law's initial.

But, what about MY MOMMY?!

Husband: And, what about my DADDY?!

Gaaah! Egg wraps, where are you when I need you?!

Mommy and daddy and all kinds of genes be damned, I was in labour already and I had no idea!

The doctor told me, "You are going to deliver in less than 48 hours!"

And indeed, I did!

Of egg wraps and a 100 kgs of adipose tissue

The strange thing about pregnancy is that the status of your mood is forever changing. One minute, you are "feeling excited", the next, you have feelings of murdering someone ;)

My strange relationship with eggs was to come full circle towards the end of the pregnancy, much to my shock. What started out as " Get those damn eggs out of this house!" would soon turn into "if you don't get me an egg frankie RIGHT NOW, I am going to burn this damn house!"

So hot was this sudden love affair with eggs that one night, whilst asleep, I found myself salivating as an army of egg rolls and frankies were swimming in front of my eyes as I lay there dreaming!!! :o

Luckily for me, I had a doctor's appointment the very next day, which was actually, for me and my food cravings, just an excuse to go out and eat and blame it all on the pregnancy. teehee ;)

So, off we went to the doctor, all that while, me, lost in a world of egg and cheese wraps and rolls and what not. I couldn't wait for the doctor to finish her check up and picked up my fat arse and rushed at the speed of a snail to the nearest mall, where dear friend Google had pointed out that there indeed was a egg wrap kiosk! EGGS OF THE WORLD, UNITE! For here comes the woman who shall chompchomp and swallow all you yellow folks!

I ate one, and the husband was quick enough to notice that I was lusting after another one. This was embarrasing. My appetite was now officially bigger than his and he knew it! Shudder!

He kept asking, "do you want one more?"

Ermmm, ummm, no no, are you mad? What am I, a whale? To eat TWO WHOLE egg wraps?! Of course not!

Inside, the bump was kicking the crap out of me, it had gotten so excited by the yummylicious taste of melted cheese and egg. THE BUMP wanted more, NOT ME!

ME: Okay, I *think* I will have another one. But, I AM NOT going there to order myself. What is the server going to think of me, this woman who can gobble two whole wraps by herself?!

So, I pretended to not know the husband, while he stood there ordering another wrap for me. Me, the sly and suave food monster that I had become, stood in one corner texting him to MAKE IT A DOUBLE EGG WITH CHEESE!!!

100 kgs, here I come, with eggs coming out of my arse!

Meanwhile, my pregnancy was coming to an end, with labour barely a week away. Soon, I wouldn't be able to blame my insatiable appetite on the bump! SIGH!

Goodbye, pillows! Hello, 40DD!

The next few days were to bring us real good news.

Life was treating me really well. The husband was happily taking all my mood swings in his stride, and so was mother dear.

My pillows were there to support me, quite literally, through good days and bad. Although, war had been declared upon them by dear husband, who, any given day, would have fallen off the bed at night, but miraculously didn't. Much to my dismay ;)

The good news that we were waiting for, finally came our way, albeit, almost at the beginning of the final month.

No more bed rest and no more taking rest. This was indeed a sad day in my love story with the pillows because was time to say goodbye to them! This was weird, this feeling of sleeping in a flat position, where my head was on the same plane as the rest of my lower half.

In the world of me looking like a mix between Jessica Alba and Nigella Lawson, there would be a Hollywood-style baby shower, with lots of cool gifts, some sexy lingerie, cute little baby clothes and me in a sooper dooper cool Oscar de la Renta gown!

But, alas! This was me, remember?! The queen of sad endings. Baah Humbug!

There was indeed a baby shower, but a desi, Bengali style one. In fact, come to think of it, it wasn't a shower at all! It was just a small lunch gathering, with culinary items of my choice, THAT'S ALL!!!

Jessica Alba Shalba be damned! On the morning of the pretentious shower, I couldn't find one shirt that would fit me! GAAAH!

NOT ONE SHIRT! I was, in fact, even tempted to try one of husband's tees, I was so desperate. The one cool top that I had kept aside for this special day refused to go beyond my by-now size 40 DD bust! :o

I finally settled on a REALLY REALLY LARGE, rather XXL, tunic, that I had quite smugly tossed away previously. The tunic was the only item of clothing that could accommodate my ever-increasing bust and bum. I MEAN, SERIOUSLY, I never knew I had gotten that big!

In the meantime, the bump had decided that s/he had his/her own plans, much to our shock...

Me, the pregnant version of Satan

SO, there I was, pregnant and unemployed. OH, sorry, I was on a forced leave and taking rest :s

Life had suddenly changed tracks and everything we had planned to a T was thrown out the window and we were left clueless.

Any hoo, there were more exciting things in life than crying over a job that wasn't mine to be. This was JUST A JOB, after all. In the bigger scheme of things, it didn't matter.

I had happily settled into a routine even without the job. I was still on bed rest and had some new best friends, MY SEVEN PILLOWS!

Yes, the double bed was now a bit too small to accommodate a heavily pregnant me, my true love, i.e. my pillows, and the husband, who had been relegated to one tiny little corner of the bed, much to his dismay ;)

Sleeping, in fact, even laying down, was now a nightmare. I literally needed a crane to put me down and another one to get me back up.

The husband was by now officially scared of me. My mood swings had everybody on their best behaviour. Nobody would mess with me. I was the in-house devil-cum-cruella D'evil ;)

If the term bridezilla was coined for brides-to-be who turned into Godzilla, then I was the damn PREGZILLACONDA, pregnant with the combined venom AND size of Godzilla and Anaconda!!! HISSSSSS!

And much to my glee, I was woken up to hot fresh bed tea every morning by the husband! This was great, getting pregnant!!! Never had I ever been woken up to bed tea by him. The Gods were finally listening!

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. D-day was finally nearing, and so was what felt like the 100 kg mark!!!

I was HUGE by now, every task was a pain to do. I was as big as a house and moving me meant serious business. Nothing would fit me anymore. All the clothes that I had smugly kept away thinking that I would never be THIS FAT, were now TIGHT. YEP!

Destiny was biting me in the bum, CHOMP CHOMP!!!

They would rather have me sleep with Sherlock Holmes

The way things were progressing, it seemed like a million years had passed us. In fact, it seems longer now, in hindsight.

However, I was STILL in my 2nd month of pregnancy, and as per the doctor's orders, was taking it easy and was off work.

The husband was travelling, and that was a good thing, because by now, my farts were the talk of town! Or at least, they sure felt like it.

My mother, who has been a victim of these bomb attacks ever since I can recall, was at her wits end. On the one hand were her daughter's pregnancy and her emotions; on the other, her nasal hair were seriously taking a beating!

I was off work and thoroughly enjoying the break. Entertainment was limited to watching Carrie and her friends have sex in 'Sex And The City'. Well, at least somebody was getting some, even if it was in reel life.

That's all I did all day. I mean, watch SATC... guffaw!! :D But for some inexplicable reason, that only pregnant women might understand, I had this weird fear that if I watched too much of all this canoodling and banging of bodies, my child would be a sex addict and I would be blamed forever!

And for this, I blame the friendly gyaan aka advice I received from some not-so-young women I knew who 'caught' me reading Sherlock Holmes one day. I don't think they would have been so shocked if I was canoodling the detective himself! But goodness gracious! Reading detective stories whilst pregnant is worse than sleeping with the protagonist, because horror of all horrors, your child will be born with snooping abilities and will view everyone he meets in life with a magnifying glass! :o

Any hoo, remember the superstitious me?! I thought, why take such a risk? So SATC was conveniently replaced with 'Grey's Anatomy'! If indeed the baby had to really get inspired, might as well become a doctor and then have sex, right?!

The baby, yes! S/he seemed to be growing fine. My system had somewhat settled, and there weren't any fainting spells a la filmy style. The ONLY thing(s) that bothered me were smells of egg and onion. AND PEOPLE. No, not their smells, although that is a non-pregnancy pet peeve, but people bothered me.

I would cry and bawl at the drop of a hat. I would cry if someone was sad, I would cry if the food was too hot. Too cold also left me in tears. Underwear doesn't fit, cue, me crying. Mom didn't make my favourite lunch, again, hysterics. You get the general idea, I suppose!

I had by now taken permission to work from home and had just about spent two odd days doing so, when the scary blood spots were back.

We literally ran out pantless, we were that scared. By the time we had reached the doctor, who was almost an hour away, I was shitting in my pants because I felt something wasn't right.

And sure as hell, was I right?!

As I stood in front of the doctor, she saw me looking down. And there it was, my 'gut feeling'. Blood was literally dripping down my legs and I was shaking as if I was in cold storage.